


All The Words For Glory

by ufohnoparty (why_didnt_i_get_any_soup)



Series: Glory [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bottom Dean Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Canon-Typical Violence, Car Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Gambling, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Season/Series 05 AU, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sex Work, This is not a vampire fic, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24809422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/why_didnt_i_get_any_soup/pseuds/ufohnoparty
Summary: Dean is hurtling towards death, towards destruction. He’s lost everything—his brother, Bobby, Castiel (sort of). That’s why he keeps tangling with vampires, right?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Glory [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794493
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24
Collections: BottomDeanBigBang2020





	All The Words For Glory

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the [Bottom!Dean Big Bang](https://bottomdeanbigbang.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Check out the blog or collection for other fics! A huge thanks to my beta bre95611 ([tumblr](https://bre95611.tumblr.com/))([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bre95611)) and my artist missjenniferb ([tumblr](https://jenniferb-art.tumblr.com/))!
> 
> EDIT: my very good friend DesdemonKaylose ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose)) ([tumblr](https://sauntervaguelydown.tumblr.com/)) created a playlist for this fic (including the song that inspired the fic title) that you can listen to [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1NW5z3Qa7EwqK0Cx1j0GUB)!

He knew he shouldn’t be doing it, that if anyone who ever cared about him even just a little would be sorely disappointed and at least spare him a disapproving look if they knew what he was doing. If Sam knew, Cas...they would kick his ass, resurrect him, and kick it again. Because he was being reckless, _beyond_ reckless. Dean wasn’t young anymore, not really, after dying and going to hell and being entirely rebuilt cell by cell, and the goddamn apocalypse and losing his brother. He wasn’t young anymore. Yet he gave himself broken ribs, a bum knee, several open wounds he tried to—poorly—sew up himself, and maybe a concussion. Hardly any kind of shape for a hunter. But at that moment, he couldn’t be worried about anything but getting his coffee.

When the rest stop machine coffee was done spitting out at him, he grabbed the hot cup and tried to restrain himself from actually sucking down the too-hot liquid and self-immolating. A little girl holding hands with her mom in the cool, wee hours of the morning looked at him wildly, like she wasn’t sure what to make of him and if he was even human. Dean had seen his face in the weird metal, not-really mirrors of rest stop bathrooms and he wasn’t quite sure he was either. He had taken quite a few beatings by then and had purpling and yellowing bruising scattered across his face, lips busted in several places, and honestly, his nose was probably not straight anymore. But it was fine. It didn’t matter anyway. Who was going to see it that really mattered?

He got in the Impala, setting the coffee gingerly down in the insert cup holders Sam got for them years ago at a random truck stop in bumfuck nowhere at four AM. It was not even a thought at the time, but every time Dean set a cup in it, all he could think of was his baby brother. Nothing specific, just a looming absence, an overbearing silence. If he had to crank the music extra loud to cover up that pit of pain in his stomach, it wasn’t anyone’s business but his.

Cas he missed too, but it wasn’t the same kind of feeling, because it didn’t exactly feel permanent the way Sam did. Sure, he hadn’t seen Cas in days—weeks? He wasn’t really sure—but Cas did _occasionally_ manage to catch up to him. Dean wasn’t even sure if that was an actual challenge for the angel and that was why it took so long to find him or if Cas was just that busy in Heaven, doing whatever damage control he had to. He felt a pang in his chest and he shoved that thought down and away, cranking up the Bob Seger. He really hadn’t had enough sleep to be driving, but he was doing it anyway. He was determined to make it to Idaho before nightfall, giving him about 12 more hours to go.

He was somewhere in Wyoming when the familiar sound of wings echoed inside the closed cab of the Impala. Even with his frayed nerves from his lack of sleep, he wasn’t exactly surprised by it. He often found himself sitting tensely, waiting for Cas to pop up any second. Because the angel was like that.

“You look like Hell,” Cas said over the music.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at that, not actually commenting.

“I would know,” Cas continued, “I’ve been there.”

“You mentioned,” Dean said.

“You were there too,” Cas continued.

“Didn’t need a reminder, thanks.”

Flashes of the torture he did to others during his time in hell burned in his brain—the cutting and carving. It was always floating just at the back of his mind, almost overwhelming, until he shoved it down and replaced it with something even _more_ traumatic and upsetting.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Please,” Cas nodded.

“Do you always know where I am?”

Cas laughed. “What do you think?”

“Just answer the damn question.” Dean felt irritation creep into him, almost wanting to tell the angel to just get the hell out of his car and leave him alone.

“I don’t always actively know where you’re at, no. But when I want to find you, I always can.”

Something in Dean already knew that was true, but he still felt a hot flash of frustration when it was confirmed.

“Is that why you’ve been running? You think you can hide from me?”

“I’m not running,” Dean lied. “But it is kind of fucking annoying that I can literally never get away from you.”

“Why do you want to get away from me?” Cas seemed genuinely confused and hurt.

Dean didn’t want to answer that.

“You have so much to learn about humans,” he said, instead.

“What do you mean?”

Dean ignored him, singing off-key to the song playing on the radio instead.

“You know you’re frustrating, right?” Cas said, leaning forward to touch the radio.

The second his fingers touched it, it went silent.

“What the fuck, dude. You better not have just broken my radio. You know you could have just hit pause if you really wanted it to be quiet in here, right?”

The angel just shrugged. “I fought against the Holy Host for you and your brother. I think I’m owed an answer.”

“You just going to lord that over me for the rest of my goddamn life? This is why you have so much to learn about humans. And I don’t want to explain. You get that it can be frustrating for me too, right? I have to give you an answer every time you want me to? I’m not your goddamn servant because you made a decision to fight against your divine family. I thought maybe you’d learned about choice, but I guess not.”

“Choice?”

“You made the choice to fight, good, great...But then I don’t want to answer something and you start this shit about how you fought _for_ _me?_ Like it’s my problem?”

“Should I not have?” Cas’ voice was low.

Dean sighed out, letting out some of his tension and relaxing his shoulders even though it twinged a bit from some residual injury.

“I don’t know,” Dean said, voice the same level. “Look, I’m glad you did. It’s just...if we want to have a normal relationship, we have to kind of...pretend that stuff didn’t happen.”

“I can’t really ignore it,” Cas glanced upward and Dean nearly missed the movement with how small it was.

The implication was, of course, that the repercussions of a thwarted apocalypse were absolutely in full effect in Heaven as they spoke.

“Humans can’t dwell on that stuff. We’re always just striving to get back to the status quo. That’s how we stay sane.”

“I wish I could tell everyone upstairs that,” Cas muttered offhandedly.

It was enough to catch Dean off guard and he snorted. 

“Sounds like they need a chill pill.”

“Yes, they need a chill pill. Whatever that is.”

Dean shook his head, still amused. “So, you just popped down here for a little vacation from that cluster?”

“Something like that. But I can’t say you’re exactly a sight for sore eyes.” Cas frowned.

“Hey!” Dean protested half-heartedly. “I’m a goddamn pleasure to look at.”

“Not like this,” Cas’ frown deepened and he reached over to place two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

It was strange to feel the familiar all-encompassing tingle of healing grace wash over his body as he was going 70 on the highway. Probably not the safest thing in the world. He didn’t even have to glance over to the rearview mirror, though, to know that the bruising and busted lip and crooked nose were gone.

“What have you been doing to yourself?”

“Keeping busy,” he lied again.

Cas hmm’d at that, clearly unconvinced, but he seemed to have taken the hint about not expecting answers to everything from Dean. That was a bit of a relief. Though, he had no guarantee the lesson sunk in. Maybe next time Cas would be right back on the same shit, demanding answers in exchange for the eternal sacrifice he made for the Winchester brothers.

“You miss your brother,” Cas said. Not a question.

“Yeah,” Dean said, honestly.

“I’m working on trying to get him out of there without releasing Lucifer and Michael,” Cas admitted.

Dean tried not to get his hopes up, but he’d placed his faith in the Angel of Thursday before; it had worked out pretty okay so far.

“Hey, I’m getting pretty hungry and it’s lunchtime. Want to join me? I’m just gonna pull into the first diner I see.”

“I’ve told you before,” Cas said, “I can’t really taste anything other than molecules. Not much point in eating.”

“Cas, people don’t really go to diners for the food. I mean, it’s not bad, and a good slice of bacon is chicken soup for the soul. But we go for the _ambiance_. It’s all about the company.”

“Oh.” Cas nodded like he understood but his tone betrayed him. “Then sure, I’d love to go to a diner with you.”

“You really should figure out a way to taste things. It really is worth it.”

“I think I’d have to concentrate really, really hard for that.”

Dean was glad that the conversation had turned away from the difficult stuff. He wasn’t ready to talk about it; he wasn’t sure he ever would be. Still, maybe Cas was taking the whole “move past the bad shit to be more human” thing seriously.

...

“Where are we heading now?” Cas asked, burping loudly like he had just heard Dean do.

He was making the effort. It even seemed like he had been able to taste some of the food. Though, he hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d need to concentrate really hard to do it.

“Idaho,” Dean answered, though he was hoping Cas would just leave it at that.

“What’s in Idaho?”

 _Fuck_. “Vamp nest,” Dean said real casual-like.

“You want me to tag along?” Cas asked and Dean was surprised that he asked instead of just assuming he was coming. Maybe the boundaries thing was working.

“You can if you want,” Dean said, noncommittally as he slid into the front of the Impala.

Cas nodded and got into the passenger seat—Sam’s seat. That was fine.

In this weird, post-apocalyptic, no-Sam world, Dean had very little to say that he really wanted to share with Cas. Not right then, anyway. He wasn’t sure that Cas knew what to talk about either. Everything that wasn’t about hunting led to silence.

“What’s going on in Heaven, exactly?” Dean asked after a few hours listening to a Zeppelin cassette. It was time to put in another tape but he just turned the radio off.

“It’s...complicated…” Cas said after a second, clearly hesitant.

“Break it down, then.”

“Uh, well, there are kind of two groups fighting with each other right now. The apocalypse was kind of...the big End of it all. That was supposed to be where things stopped and it was supposed to bring my father back. But he’s still gone.”

Dean remembered when Cas tried to find him using Dean’s necklace. That had been an absolute bust. Dean was not a religious man—even now, with confirmation of heaven and hell, God and angels, he wasn’t religious—but he didn’t know how to feel about living in a godless universe with no predestination, no plan, and no oversight. In a way, it was freeing, but in another way, it scared him shitless.

“Some people still want to try to defer to what they think Father would want, the usual rank and file, while some want to completely restructure.”

“Which side are you on?” Dean asked.

Cas didn’t respond, just gave Dean a sideways look until Dean flicked his eyes over to see what Cas was doing.

“I rebelled, Dean. What do you think?”

Dean snorted. “Right. So, what, you’re like Captain America up there?” he joked.

Castiel was silent.

“Wait, are you actually in charge?”

“Raphael wishes to restart the apocalypse,” was his only answer, confirming Dean’s assertion.

“No fucking way,” Dean was stunned, his stomach twisted in knots.

This put Castiel in so much danger. He’d been resurrected by God twice now. What was to say he would get a third time?

“Way,” Cas said solemnly and it sounded so funny coming from his mouth like that, but the situation was too serious for Dean to laugh.

“Fuck. You’re not telling me that Sam’s death was for nothing, are you?”

“I...don't know…”

“Cas, this is some serious shit. Is that why you came down here? You wanted to tell me this?”

“I thought it might be relevant information, yes.”

“You wound me, Cas. I thought you just popped down because you enjoy my company.”

Cas gave him a withering look that he almost missed. “You admitted to running away from me for weeks.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that, though he was just trying to be funny. “I was just making a joke, Cas.”

“Right.”

“Is it a break to be here to just ice some vamps for a while?”

“Ha, I suppose so.”

…

When they arrived at the motel, Dean got them a room with two queen beds. It was a little more expensive than getting a single room and he knew Cas didn’t need to sleep but if he was gonna hang around, he needed somewhere to sit while Dean slept. And Dean hadn’t slept in weeks. Snatches of hours here and there, just long enough for him to get from place to place without actually dying.

They were in a town called Falls City, just outside Twin Falls, Idaho, where the nest was. They’d do more work the next day—actually locate the nest, kill them if and when they did. In the weeks since the failed apocalypse, Dean had almost gotten used to living in the constant pain he accrued from brutal close call fights, but when he settled into his bed, tv on a low level just enough to drown out his thoughts and lull him into sleep, he felt fine. Good, nearly. It somehow almost made it harder to sleep.

“You should be asleep by now,” Cas called to him from the other bed.

He was sitting up, shoes still on, legs extended over the comforter, hands resting in his lap. His eyes never left the television screen as he spoke.

“Are you watching me sleep, Cas?” Dean joked, rolling over onto his side, away from Cas.

“You need your strength for tomorrow,” Cas replied, neither confirming nor denying.

“Right, right,” he muttered, wishing he was alone so he could do his usual nightly routine that helped him get to sleep.

It wasn’t something he could really do in polite company though, and he tried hard not to think about doing it. 

“You know, you don’t have to be here while I sleep, right?” he said, wondering if maybe that would get Cas to leave.

“I’m going to make sure you sleep,” Cas replied.

“What? You gonna mojo me to sleep or something?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“You better not, you shit.” Dean laughed but then the other bed creaked and Cas’ clothes rustled.

Suddenly, Dean rolled over to see Cas with his legs over the side of the bed.

“Dude, seriously?”

“You seem to need help sleeping. Or maybe you just don’t want to.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Which?”

“Probably both.”

Before Dean could even object, Cas had his hand to Dean’s forehead and he was passed out.

…

In the morning, Dean woke up to find Cas softly snoring, supine and still fully dressed.

“What the fuck?” He muttered to himself, slipping out of the room to grab some coffee from the lobby. They may not have a continental breakfast, but most places weren’t so shitty they couldn’t put out a coffee pot for their guests. Still, the entire way down there, he couldn’t help thinking about Cas being asleep. That wasn’t...normal, right? He was an angel; there was no need for him to sleep. Did he just _feel_ like sleeping? That’s probably it. Same thing with the food. He grabbed a second cup for Cas, just in case the angel felt like concentrating really hard on some molecules that don’t taste all that good yet humans suck down by the pot daily regardless.

He was feeling pretty good, maybe for the first time ever in his miserable fucking life, thanks to the angel mojo sleep. He was about to tell Cas as he entered the room again but he was surprised to find him still asleep.

“Come on, wake up, sleepyhead,” He called, assuming that would be enough.

After a few seconds, Cas still didn’t wake up. This time, Dean sat down the two coffees on the table and went to shake Cas bodily.

“Dude, get up.”

Finally, Cas’ eyes fluttered open.

“What’s going on?” Cas croaked.

“You were asleep, dude,” Dean said, going for the coffee again. “I thought you didn’t do that.”

“Yeah, I—”

Dean cut him off, holding out the coffee for Cas to take. “Here, drink this.”

“Coffee?” Cas asked. “Why?”

“If you’re sleepy, and I guess you are, then it’ll wake you up. I don’t know why it works. It’s just what humans do.”

“Well,” Cas said, sitting up and rubbing his face, “if it’s what humans do.”

He sounded sarcastic and Dean laughed at that. “You gotta learn sometime.”

Cas sipped the hot drink. “This is awful.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “but it gets us through.”

Cas nodded.

“Hey, while you’re down here, do you want some maybe more normal clothes?” Dean asked abruptly, turning the television off after it’d been running all night.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Cas seemed so confused, looking down at the now rumpled attire.

“You wear the same thing all the time. And it’s not exactly normal clothing. Most people don’t wear trench coats. Plus it’s not cold out. You don’t need a jacket. Just jeans and a t-shirt.”

“Do you have some that will fit me?”

“I’ve got you covered, man.” Dean pulled out a few items from John’s hand-me-down military duffel he used in lieu of standard luggage and tossed them over to Cas.

“When you’re done, we gotta get us some food in our bellies. Or, at least I do.”

“I could try to eat,” Cas said, looking down at the red plaid shirt in his hand. “Are you sure I’m not going to look bad in this?”

“You’ve just gotten used to seeing yourself in the tan trench coat. You’ll look normal, I promise.”

“Like a Winchester.” Cas supplied and Dean’s stomach dropped at that.

Cas apparently noticed Dean’s expression and immediately started trying to backtrack. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m not trying to replace your brother.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just hurry up.”

...

At the diner, Cas got more coffee.

“See, it grows on you, doesn’t it?” Dean asked.

“Guess so.” Cas agreed. “So, what’ve we got?” Cas asked in a way that reminded him so much of Sam that he got a pang in the chest from it.

“Well, there’ve been at least five bodies pulled out of Snake River, exsanguinated. Clear sign of vampire activity.”

“Sounds like it.” Cas agreed. “Have all the bodies been around the same place? Maybe we can use that to find the location of the vampire nest.”

“They’ve all been found downstream from wherever they were dumped, but law enforcement hasn’t released their calculations on that.”

“Any chance we can get them to share that information?”

“Well, we could do the whole monkey suits thing and hope for the best since Bobby isn’t around to be our FBI supervisor, or we could try to get the calculations ourselves.”

“That’s a possibility. I can tell the speed and strength of the river’s current. Could help us figure out where they were dumped if we have the weight. Any chance the weights and heights were released for the victims?”

Dean sighed, frustrated. “Looks like we’re pulling out the monkey suits and slipping into the morgue.”

“Great…”

…

The Twin Falls County medical examiner was a middle-aged woman, approximately 55 if Dean had to guess, with a tight graying ponytail and a sharp look in her eyes. She was immediately hostile toward them when they stepped in while she was doing some measurements on a portly, elderly man stretched on the examination table.

“Who are you and why are you here? Who let you in?”

“Uh,” Dean felt nervous under her intense motherly demeanor, like the Mary Winchester he never got to know, “your secretary let us in. We’re from the Seattle field office.”

“FBI?” she asked, incredulous. “You boys don’t usually come ‘round this way. What do you want? Might this have something to do with the bodies in the river?”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean confirmed.

“I suppose you want to see the bodies, then?”

“That’s right.”

“Let me see some ID.”

 _Damn_. Dean had been certain they were in the clear. He reached into his inside jacket pocket, looking over to Cas to indicate that he should do the same. They both flipped open their fake badges but the woman wasn’t just going to take it at first glance. She grabbed each and started to scrutinize them closely.

Dean had been arrested a million times, been wanted for murder and other federal crimes, and faced down the goddamn apocalypse and still he hadn’t ever been as nervous as his was in that moment. What the fuck? This woman was terrifying and to be honest it was turning him on a bit. He couldn’t explain it. She had some kind of dominatrix vibe going on.

“Okay,” she finally said, nodding in satisfaction. “There are five total bodies. I can give you the autopsy reports for your records.”

“Do the reports include where in the river they were found?” Cas asked.

She gave him a weird look. “No,” she said like she was talking to a child, “that’s going to be in the police report. My only job is to determine the cause of death.”

“Right.”

 _Cas, you fucking moron. Keep your mouth shut,_ Dean thought, giving Cas an evil glare when the woman’s back was turned.

Cas had the decency to look abashed. Good.

She handed them the files for the five cases and they took the notes on the approximate height and weight (calculated taking into account lack of blood) and thanked her for all her help. Instead of an actual response, she just glared at them.

“Oof, that lady gave me the heebee jeebees,” Dean admitted when they cleared the coroner’s office.

“She reminds me of Naomi.”

“Who’s Naomi?”

“She’s an angel,” Cas said, as though that was an answer.

Dean gave him a withering look as he climbed into the Impala’s driver’s seat. “No kidding.”

“Right, sorry. She’s not an archangel, but she’s powerful and she’s on my side, against Raphael.”

“Right.”

“She’s...very stern.”

Dean let silence reign for a few minutes while he navigated to the police department. He didn’t really like having to talk to the cops, but if it got them the information they needed, he’d do it. He just strongly, strongly preferred not to.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Let me do all the talking this time.”

“Right.”

Thankfully, the interaction with the cops went pretty smoothly. They had a map of where the bodies had all been retrieved and that gave them at least an idea of what side of town they would be looking at, mainly in the rural area to the west.

It was no surprise that vampires would congregate in an area that was rural and in a part of the country where neighbors didn’t bother neighbors. It was every man for himself out there. And that meant if your neighbor was a vampire, it wasn’t your damn business.

…

After grabbing some food and looking over the files, Cas was able to use his infinite angel knowledge to point them to an almost exact location where the bodies were likely being dumped upriver. Nothing in the police reports had really indicated that the police had really gone that far in terms of figuring out a common thread. Surprisingly, local law enforcement was making very little movement, despite the fact that there were five bloodless bodies found floating in the same river. He guessed Idahoans really just didn’t want to pry into other people’s business. Even when a murder was involved. For such a small community, it didn’t seem like any of the locals were that concerned either. Made their job easier.

And damn, it would have been the perfect job, too, if Cas hadn’t been there. Not that Dean minded his company; it just put a bit of a crimp in his plans. He’d have to waylay them a little longer. Not that he hadn’t already been kind of waylaying them anyway. Was Cas’ presence just an excuse? He wasn’t really ready to examine that too closely, especially with a case at hand. That was when Dean could really shine, really show the world what he could do. It gave him something to launch himself headlong into. He’d been floundering when he didn’t have a case and he was out there completely by himself—no Bobby, no Sam, and no Cas.

The two of them were seated on the same side of a booth, ostensibly so they could both be bowed over their information on the case and the local map Dean had purchased at a combination gas station/gift shop not two blocks from the police station. However, Dean was hyper-aware of the optics of the two of them sitting side by side, hyper-aware of the warm body at his side, hyper-aware of how distracted he was but couldn’t seem to focus himself back down.

“Doesn’t seem to be much in the 15 miles radius of the inveterate dumpsite,” Cas was saying, when Dean finally zoned back in a bit.

“Right,” he agreed, a little dazed still, “but we’d have to go out there and see.”

“Obviously,” Cas agreed, “but your Chevy is hardly inconspicuous, is it?” His voice was a bit cheeky.

“Guess not,” Dean agreed, eating the last remnants of fries left unattended on his abandoned plate. “If you suggest angel travel…” a thick hint of warning straining through his voice, “I told you….”

“I know, I know. Irregular bowel movements. Still, I think the lack of motorized vehicles in a case involving creatures with superhuman hearing abilities seems prudent in this case. Element of surprise and all?”

“Damn. I hate it when you make sense.”

“Should we get going?” Cas asked, obviously not concerned with having any dessert since he couldn’t taste it anyway.

“No?” Dean said like Cas was stupid. “We haven’t even had any pie.”

“We don’t have time for dessert, Dean. There are bodies piling up. And if I know anything about vampires it’s that they don’t stick around much longer after they start leaving too much of a trail.”

“I guess you’re right. They may have already skipped town.” Dean agreed. “In that case, we should definitely get dessert. There’s always time for dessert, Cas. Especially pie. I mean, have you had warm apple pie a la mode? Ugh, nothing better.”

Cas gave him his best impression of a withering look. Dean just laughed and waved at their waitress who didn’t seem to have much better to do than wait for them to leave so she wouldn’t have any more tables. He ordered exactly what he had described to Cas—warm apple pie a la mode. He insisted that Cas try at least some of it.

“Focus really, really hard, dude,” he instructed.

Cas did as he was told.

“How’s that?”

“Not terrible. Now, can we go?”

“Let’s get out of the monkey suits before we go,” Dean said and grabbed the check.

He wound up paying in cash, not even thinking. Cas eyed the green a little warily but said nothing. Dean wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, whenever it did come back up. He thought back to the night that he earned that money. If Cas really wanted to, he could probably see what Dean had done; he was an angel after all. Angels knew all that ever was and ever will be. Maybe that stopped being the case after the failed apocalypse. Who was to know? Or maybe it had more to do with being too preoccupied with whatever shit was going on in Heaven to be checking in on the daily comings and goings of one mere mortal who was missing his brother too much.

That night had been a lot like any other night for Dean except Sam wasn’t there. Dean hadn’t spent that many nights by himself really. He was always with his dad or he was with Sam, so maybe that contributed to his poor judgment; he couldn’t be sure. Either way, he’d been a couple of drinks in when the woman, late fifties with thinning gray hair and sagging breasts who was more than a couple of drinks in, sat next to him at the bar.

He wasn’t stupid; he had seen her eyeing him all night. Not that he was a stranger to the wandering gazes of both sexes throughout his life. Not to toot his own horn, but he knew he was hot shit. Mostly, he’d just gotten used to the hungry looks, learned to ignore them.

But there she was in front of him, clingy tube top and skin sagging off her bones, smiling with too-white teeth in an orange face. She wasn’t what Dean would call pretty, not by a long shot, but he could see that sometime in the past, sometime in her younger years, she had been a beauty, had had love in her life. But now she was sad and she was covering her loneliness with a spray tan and teeth whitening treatments, maybe even cigarettes in place of real food. She wasn’t young anymore but she was trying so, so hard to be.

“Hey,” she started, slurring and a little wobbly. If Dean hadn’t been drunk too, he would have turned her away immediately, told her he was waiting on somebody or something. Instead, he humored her.

“Hello,” he smiled, eased with alcohol.

He knew she was going to proposition him. He wasn’t going to say yes, of course, but he could let her down gently, hear her pitch even if it made her feel better. He wasn’t, however, expecting her to place a hundred dollar bill on the table between them, hiding it from anyone else in the bar with her broad, bony shoulders.

“I know I’m not much to look at anymore,” she started, “but my husband died a few years ago and I miss him terribly. You remind me a bit of him when we were young.”

“Oh,” Dean couldn’t help saying. He wasn’t even sure if he was flattered; he was meant to be, but he was drunk and his face was already flushed and his lips were a bit numb.

The woman reached up and stroked his cheek. “I’m not looking for love. Not even companionship. Just a night of feeling wanted. Could you do that?”

Any other time, he would have turned her down, sent her on her way. Nicely, of course. But he was alone--no Dad, no Sam, no Cas. Who was going to know? Who was going to care?

“I think I can help you with that,” he replied, bringing a hand up to cover hers and take the money from her. “Your place or mine?”

…

“You know,” Cas said after he’d transported them to a country road not too far from the river, “It just occurred to me that you were about to do something incredibly stupid. By yourself, I might add.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” Dean played ignorant like he didn’t somehow know exactly what kind of fucked up mess he was walking into every time he got tangled in a vampire nest.

“Vampires. They’re faster and stronger than humans. Every nest easily has eight in a pack. There’s just one of you, and without me, I’m not entirely sure what kind of chance you would have stood.”

Dean couldn’t really refute that, though. Cas was absolutely right, in every way.

“They need taking out.”

“They’re an endangered species.” Cas countered.

“Funny you mention that. First time I ever even learned vampires were real was when I was what, twenty-four or twenty-five? Went my whole life not even knowing they were out there because my dad thought they were all extinct.”

“You don’t talk about your father much,” Cas pointed out.

“That’s what you got from everything I just said?” Dean sneered, not sure what to think about Cas even knowing about John Winchester.

Of course, theoretically, he knew Cas knew about John Winchester. The entire cosmos knew about John and Mary and Sam and Dean Winchester. Their whole lives were writ big and bright across the stars. But somehow, John’s questionable parenting still felt personal, like a secret festering wound that Dean occasionally picked at so it would never heal, just leaving nasty scars around it.

“Anyway, vampires kill people. You want to tell some sob story about them being an endangered species to the five poor SOBs laying bloodless in the county morgue?”

“Not particularly. And I don’t envy their souls. It’s a bit of a mess upstairs right now. Someone else has the pleasant job of explaining to them how they died if they so choose to learn.”

“I didn’t mean literally, Cas,” Dean growled, already resenting the fact that they were having to leg it down the dusty road, looking for any potentially suspicious vamp activity.

It was still daylight and it wasn’t overcast so the chances of there being a direct sighting were not very high. But, fortunately, the afterlife and promise of immortality generally led to a certain type of lifestyle that tended to be pretty easy to spot. They were always young party animals, obvious squatters with souped-up classic cars, surrounded by scattered broken beer bottles and impossibly loud rock music blasting. In his lifetime, he’d gone up against quite a few vampire packs, and save the odd pack here and there, that was pretty much the vampire MO. He didn’t exactly think it was the most ideal scenario, especially not being constantly surrounded by at least 7 other people--vampires--but it was immortality.

Cas nodded as his eyes swept around the visible landscape. “No sign of vampire activity so far.”

“Right.” Dean could clearly see that himself, but if it got Cas talking about anything other than Dean’s stupidity of deciding to take on an entire nest by himself. “We’ll know it when we see it.”

“Like pornography,” Cas said, and if Dean had been drinking any kind of beverage, he would have done a spit take.

“What did you just say?” Dean asked, half through a laugh.

“Well, I am an angel. I know...a lot of things. Most of which I can’t really understand nor do I have any context for, but sometimes things just...line up perfectly into place for a punchline. I can’t explain it.”

Dean was a bit flabbergasted, but he was still tickled by the fact that the word “pornography” had slipped through angelic lips. Cas’ angelic lips.

“Of everything you’ve ever said and done, Cas, that takes the cake. Nothing will ever be better than that.”

Cas looked at him, puzzled, as though Dean were speaking an unintelligible language, which would be nigh impossible considering _again_ that Cas was an angel that had at least a working knowledge of everything, including all languages. So Dean could have been speaking Swahili and Cas would have been able to at least parse out what he meant.

“It’s funny, is all,” Dean said, the smile dropping from his lips.

“It was supposed to be,” Cas smirked, clearly impressed with himself for being able to entertain Dean.

“Well, you know what we’re looking for right? Immortal types start to live a certain lifestyle. They don’t care about anything. And usually, the ones that draw attention to themselves are the newly turned. So, keep an eye out for flashy cars. That sort of stuff.”

The majority of houses they passed were set pretty far back from the road, more shacks than houses, with all the trappings of humble farmers who drove nothing fancier than a Ford F-150. Nothing stood out and Dean’s dogs started to bark as they ambled down the relatively flat road. He was thankful they were no longer in the suits, but he still felt pretty exposed walking down the road without the Impala to restock on weapons when the shit—inevitably—went sideways. He had a bag of dead man’s blood he’d swiped from the morgue upon a second visit stuck in his pocket just in case, a machete at his hip that was mostly hidden by his oversized hunting jacket, and an angel at his side. That would be enough—more than enough really. Cas could take out the majority of the vampires in one fell swoop. Dean was more of Cas’ back up than anything else.

Finally—finally!—they spotted an old farmhouse that looked more like a barn than a domicile suitable for human occupants—though vampires weren’t human anymore anyway so what did it matter—with a couple of black hot rods parked out the front.

“Think we found our place, Cas. This was almost too easy.”

“The newly turned are not exactly subtle,” Cas shrugged. “I understand. It’s newfound freedom for humans. Increased speed, strength, eyesight, lifespan, sex drive. It’s not as if humans have ever been particularly responsible and then you enhance the worst qualities and you get the recklessness of a vampire.”

Pretty much. Dean couldn’t argue with that.

“So, what’s our strategy, Cas? Bust in guns blazing while they’re all asleep? Or do we want to tiptoe around and gank ‘em quietly one at a time?”

“Hmm,” Cas was clearly seriously weighing the two options, “both are tempting, but one is the smarter and safer option.”

“Okay. You mojo them and I chop heads off as quietly as possible. We rendezvous in ten minutes. Shouldn’t take more than that.”

Cas nodded, agreeing that it was just that simple. Even more so when Dean discovered the vamps hadn’t even bothered to lock the door to their shabby barn. They really just didn’t care, did they?

Old wood and rusty hinges made the door incredibly difficult to open quietly, but Dean managed. Just behind him, the angel watched and waited, poised with nothing more than his hands for weapons. But they would do quite nicely. Provided none of them screamed.

First, he stuck his head in, allowing the outside light to filter in and aid his vision. He, unlike the undead creatures inside, was not blessed with the gift of nocturnal sight. However, the light that did filter through was enough to show him the sleeping forms of at least three vamps close to the door; those would be his to kill while Cas traveled beyond into the darkness where Dean couldn’t see for the rest of the poor saps. _They murdered and dumped the bodies of five innocent people_ , Dean had to remind himself. They weren’t poor saps, not by a long shot. Vampires didn’t need to kill to survive, so those that did were either just giant assholes or newbies that didn’t know what they needed to do to self-preserve.

So, the question was, could Dean chop off the three heads quickly enough before they wake up, and could Cas smoke the rest in the same amount of time? So far, it had been too easy. He'd have to reserve judgment on that front.

Cas was silent and invisible as he moved into the barn. Dean wasn’t even entirely sure where Cas was, but Dean snuck over to the farther back vampire in his circle of light. That way he could work his way toward the entrance instead of steadily moving deeper into the snake pit, so to speak. He was more than confident that he could at least lop off the first head, no problem.

He hoisted his machete, checked for sharpness before they set out, and brought it down in the swift and practiced arc that one could only achieve with an extensive amount of practice, courtesy of John Winchester. When it sliced all the way through and the fabric ripped, Dean couldn’t help thinking “Thanks, Dad,” though he really wished he hadn’t. The only sound that escaped was the sound of air leaking from the neck of the first casualty. Vampires truly slept the sleep of the dead when the sun was up.

In the deep dark, Dean saw flashes of the pure light of angel grace, shooting out in beams from the unsuspecting faces of the slumbering creatures in the barn. He’d seen at least three already. That meant he needed to get after the next one, ASAP. Who knew how long his luck would hold?

He moved closer to the door, to the next sleeping vampire, and repeated the process. This time, his blade didn’t chop all the way through. That was something they didn’t tell you about chopping off heads. Aside from the issues of precision, the next biggest issue in decapitation was getting a clean cut. There were plenty of seventeenth and eighteenth-century monarchs and leaders that could attest to the unpleasant business of not getting a clean slice the first time. Fortunately, he’d severed the windpipe completely, so no speech or cry on the part of the dying vampire woman was possible. Unfortunately, or at least unfortunately for her, was the fact that her brain was still able to register the decapitation. Her eyes met his, watching as he swung the blade up one more time and finished the job. If he wanted to, he could have let himself feel sympathy for them, getting almost sentimental in his old age, but he didn’t have the time to sit still. Instead, he lurched toward his third and final victim.

The bed was empty. Fuck, Dean thought, whipping his head around to try to catch sight of the runner. If he could find him in time, he could either cut his head off or throw a dead man’s blood-soaked blade at him to incapacitate him long enough to do the job. But now, the stealth attack was off. It was time to go full throttle into a brawl, wake the rest of the nest if they had to.

“Cas!” he yelled into the covering darkness, toward the flashes of light in the recesses. “I lost one! We gotta get some lights on!”

Just as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the overhead lights in the cavernous barn snapped on, cracking and buzzing to life.

“Are the lights to your liking?” a slithering voice snaked into his ear, quiet, but not enough to distract Dean from the obvious gun to his back. “Drop the machete.”

Oh great, now he was a hostage. It had been a while since that particular circumstance. It wasn’t his favorite.

In the light, the wreckage was clearly visible. There were the two vampires that Dean had hacked up and now at least five burnt-out bodies from where Cas blasted them. That left just the one at Dean’s back, at least according to his calculations. And that’s when Dean realized his plan was, well, half-cocked. They hadn’t even done any surveillance. They didn’t know how many there actually were.

“Don’t make a move,” the vampire said to Cas across the way, “or your partner gets it. What the fuck even are you?”

Dean couldn’t even blame him for being curious. If he hadn’t known what Cas was personally, he would not have believed it. He wasn’t sure a mere vampire who had absolutely no idea about the thwarted end of days would believe in an angel, the same way Dean hadn’t believed in vampires for a quarter of a century of his life.

“I am Castiel, Angel of the Lord,” Cas answered honestly, to Dean’s surprise.

But, it did the trick just fine, because the vampire was distracted and the gun had lowered, just a little bit. It was enough of a window for Dean to twist away from the man behind him, maneuvering just enough out of the way to dodge a shot fired and wrestle the gun away. In that instant, he dove for his machete. In an acrobatic move that Dean tried not to be impressed with himself for, he spun back around and got just the right angle for him to bring the blade down clean through his throat, his eyes going bug out before the dead head fell heavily to the dusty ground.

“That better be the last of them,” Dean called over to Cas, smirking.

He waited for a response. He didn’t receive one.

When he looked over, Cas was slumped on the ground clutching his gut. Dark red blood was peeking out from between his fingers.

“What the fuck?” Dean asked, rushing forward, rushing to push pressure on the wound.

“I’m not complaining exactly,” Dean gritted out, trying his damnedest to hoist Cas off the ground, “but how the fuck are you bleeding right now?”

Cas tried to speak but all that came out was a groan.

“Why did I let you talk me into going anywhere without the Impala? If you don’t patch yourself up ASAP, you’re gonna fuckin bleed out, man. Nearest neighbor was a quarter mile back down the road.” _Shit_.

“Get. The. Bullet. Out.” Cas bit out like he was angry with Dean for not knowing to do that one obvious thing.

“I don’t know if you noticed or not, but I’m not exactly a medical fucking doctor, Cas!”

“Just, dig your fingers in there.”

“What if I can’t reach it?”

Dean had to make a decision; the same kind of decision if this had been Sam bleeding out on a dirt floor in the middle of nowhere Idaho: did he try to do some kind of haphazard surgery right then with whatever he could find at a vampire nest when vampires didn’t generally need a whole lot of healing, did he try to drag Cas’s carcass to the nearest house and hope that person was there or, if not, try to use their medical supplies and take their car to get Cas to the nearest hospital, or did he just start walking down that road he’d previously walked up and seen damn near no one actually drive on and hope for the best?

None seemed like great options. Dean had done his fair share of shoddy patch-up jobs, but those usually involved arms, legs, or shoulders. Nothing as dangerous and wholly life-threatening as a fucking gunshot to the gut. And did he mention—Cas was fucking bleeding! That wasn’t normal!

He sat there, cradling Cas, putting as much pressure as possible on the wound and trying to tell Cas that he needed to get him off the floor and to a bed. Cas, for his part, had very little to say. He was concentrating on staying conscious, something he clearly had very little experience with.

“Shoulda known you boys were stupid enough to take on a vamp nest without any backup,” they heard a woman call from the front door and she kicked it in, shotgun in her hand.

Dean tore his eyes away from his bloody fingers over Cas’. There, in jeans and a plaid shirt was the medical examiner, her hair down. He didn’t have time to think too much but in that moment he could only think about how he thought he liked her even if she had been terrifying.

“You need to get better fake IDs.” She tossed the gun to the ground and rushed over to Dean. “Help me get him into my truck.”

She grabbed his legs and let Dean carry his torso out to her muddy truck so they could lay him out in the back seat.

Dean couldn’t bring himself to leave Cas in the back alone, so he climbed in the back to keep holding the pressure to the wound. “I’m here, Cas. Don’t close your eyes, focus on me.”

He’d had to do this before with Sam; hell, he’d been the one that Sam had to do it for. It was part and parcel with the hunting gig. But Dean had never, in a million years, expected any bodily harm to ever come to Cas. That wasn’t right.

“I’m taking you both back to the morgue. I can imagine neither of you has insurance,” she called over the roar of her diesel engine. 

Dean was so appreciative of what she was doing for them but he honestly just couldn’t focus on anything but keeping the wound as closed as possible, talking to Cas to make sure he didn’t pass out. He couldn’t even bother to respond to the ME no matter how generous she was to be helping.

“You’re so fuckin’ lucky I knew you were hunters. And that I came out here when I did.” She was saying as she took curves entirely too fast for Dean’s comfort.

“Yes, thank you,” he grit out, trying to keep himself upright. 

In what seemed like hours, she finally got them to her house.

“I can’t take you to the county coroner’s office, just because they have so many cameras and security measures, it’s not safe. I have medical equipment here and I’ll do it all for free.”

Dean hadn’t even really been thinking about payment; he was just so concerned about Cas dying that he couldn’t think of anything else. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely as they carried Cas’ limp body to the living room where they laid him out on the coffee table.

“We need to get his clothes off,” she commanded, pulling things up and off and slicing through the things she couldn’t easily get off. “We’ve got to see the damage of the gunshot.”

Dean was well aware of the types of bullets and, as a fellow hunter, she didn’t bother to explain to him.

“Help me lift him, just a little.”

He did so and she felt around his back and was relieved to find that the bullet had an exit wound. That meant it hadn’t bounced around inside Cas’ guts and it was mostly going to be a patch job. It just wasn’t a patch job Dean was equipped to do.

“I don’t exactly have a surgery ward but I can get him in the most sterile environment I can and do the best I can. Based on the location, I think it mostly missed anything vital. Might have torn intestines a little but it shouldn’t take too long to patch up. Are you ready to be my assistant?”

“Anything you need,” Dean said sincerely.

“You’re mostly going to be handing me things and putting things away.”

“I can do that.” Dean sniffed. He wasn’t misty-eyed, nope.

But he didn’t have time to feel worried or sentimental. She immediately launched into collecting medical equipment, sterilization, and prepping Dean for what she was going to do. There would have to be a larger incision to fix the internal damage and then she was going to need to sew up the outside wounds, and then it was just a waiting game from there.

Watching her work was almost soothing, seeing her steady hands and deliberate movements. Dean was never that calm under pressure, but she had gone to medical school, she had trained in surgery, for years. She told him she’d done her share of ICU surgeries, working under even more immense pressure than what they were doing right now. 

Her words, as she talked to him, mostly nonsense or just anecdotes of hunting gigs, were so steady and sure, just like her hands. It was hypnotic. He was distracted by everything, watching and listening to her, handing her tools, and taking them away.

She’d put an IV in with some liquid. Cas had lost a lot of blood, of course, but she didn’t exactly have extra blood just laying around. Cas had passed out from the low blood pressure and likely the pain, but she didn’t have any anesthetic for them to use; they just had to hope for the best. So far, he was still breathing so that boded well. Where the fuck was that angel healing when you really needed it?

“We have to turn him over so I can sew up the wound on the back. And we have to wake him up because we have to get some kind of sugar into him, bring his blood pressure back up.”

“Poor bastard,” Dean said, surprisingly in good spirits now that it was almost over.

“He’s weathered quite a storm,” she agreed. “Now, help me flip him over. Gently as possible, mindful of the stitches.”

Dean nodded and got his arms under Cas’ legs, below the stitching on his lower abdomen, and she got his upper torso. Carefully, carefully, they tried to roll him over so he was face down on the coffee table. However, when they both had him flipped over, there was a glaring absence of the exit wound that had clearly been there a few hours.

“Well, that’s not what I expected to see,” she said, not sounding all that shocked. “What is that I just operated on?”

Dean had to laugh at that. “I know you’re a hunter, or at least hunter adjacent, but I don’t think you’d believe me even if I did tell you.”

With her bloody surgery gloves still on, she put her hands on her hips and gave Dean a defiant look that he could see even with her hair pulled back and a surgical mask on. “Try me.”

“He’s...uh, an angel.”

“An angel?” she sounded about as incredulous as Dean had expected her to be. “I’ve never heard of angels bleeding like that.”

“I, uh, I think it’s his ‘mortal vessel’ or something,” Dean pulled the explanation out of his ass, doing the air quotes to boot.

“Is he really an angel? He’s not a shapeshifter or another vampire or something?”

“No, he’s really an angel. It’s...complicated.”

“Well, if he’s healing himself like that, we should be able to wake him up, right?”

“It’s worth trying.”

“You work on that. I’m going to go find some food that he can eat.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, crouching down beside Cas to brush hair out of his face and whisper to him. “Cas, I need you to wake up. Can you hear me? Can you wake up?” He slapped Cas’ face lightly, just enough to try to get him to wake up, despite blood loss and surgery.

Still, somehow, Cas’ eyes fluttered open and peered around before closing again.

“Wait, no, Cas, wake up. We have to get some sugar in you. You lost blood.”

“S’regenrating,” Cas muttered, eyes still closed, but clearly not totally down for the count.

“Okay, but I still need you to wake up. You have to eat.”

“Help me sit up,” he asked Dean and Dean obliged, putting his arms around Cas to help him shift into an upright seated position.

“He awake?” Her voice came from behind him.

Dean nodded.

“Good,” she said, and then he heard the cocking of a gun.

 _Oh fuck_.

“Now I need him to tell me what he is. If he corroborates, we’ll be okay. If not, I know at least one of you is injured with a gunshot. If it at least slows him down enough for me to chop his head off, I’ll pump him full of lead.”

Dean swallowed, but as a hunter, he understood what she was doing and why she was doing it. It was just self-preservation. How could you trust a hunter that was running around with a supernatural being, angel or not?

“Get talking,” she directed at Cas. “Tell me what you really are.”

His eyes stayed closed and he was clearly still groggy but he nodded, indicating that he had heard her. “My name is Cast _iel_ ,” he emphasized the part of his name that came from God, “an angel of the lord, keeper of Dean Winchester.”

Dean heard the gun uncock at that. “Dean Winchester? _You’re_ Dean Winchester?” She was clearly holstering her gun. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Wasn’t really much time to bring it up, what with you being a medical examiner who isn’t _supposed_ to know about the supernatural and this god damn angel bleeding out in a dirty vamp nest and needing god damn surgery.”

“Fair point,” she conceded. “You really do need better fake badges though. I gave you the information because I immediately knew why you were there. You can just tell a hunter from real law enforcement. If you know what you’re looking for.” She handed a pack of cookies to Dean to give to Cas. “You don’t walk or carry yourself like law enforcement. Too much swagger.”

Dean had to admit, he knew exactly what she meant. It really was subtle, but he had seen it in others and he felt it in himself. Cas...well, Cas was a different story, but it oozed off Dean if you knew what you were looking for.

He looked down at the crackers in his hand, knowing full well that Cas wasn’t about to take them from Dean’s hand and feed himself. Dean was going to have to feed him.

“Cas,” he said gingerly, “I need you to eat. You need to get some strength back. I’ve got cookies. But you have to be willing to let me give them to you. Is that okay?”

Cas nodded, barely, but he opened his mouth like a baby bird waiting on its mother to plop a worm in.

“I don’t even have the cookies unwrapped yet, dude. Calm down.”

Cas laughed at that, small and short, but it shook his body. “Hurts,” he muttered, not without a bit of a smirk on his face. Goddammit, Cas. Way to be endearing even when half dead. Then, Dean carefully unwrapped the cookies and took one gingerly between two fingers.

“Okay, I’ve got one now. Open up. You gonna be able to chew?”

“I’ll manage,” Cas responded then opened his mouth.

Dean hesitated, eyes fixed on the gaping warm, soft mouth right in front of him. How weird was it that he was supposed to be _feeding_ Cas? He’d done all that other stuff, stuck his fingers in blood and hauled him around, and trusted a complete stranger to perform honest to goodness surgery on him, but feeding him was, what, too much work? _Just do it, Winchester_ , he had to convince himself.

He took a deep breath and finally moved the cookie over Cas’ mouth so that his lips would feel it and be able to pull it in. It felt so intimate and he felt stupid there, in front of that woman, feeding an angel who had needed surgery. When Cas’ mouth had sucked the cookie in, Dean looked away, studiously not making eye contact with the woman.

Sitting silently, he listened as Cas carefully chewed.

“Water?” the angel asked.

Dean’s eyes swung over to the woman. She darted out of the room and into the kitchen, returning with a sweating cold bottle.

“I’ve got a bottle, Cas. You okay to sit up a little?”

“I’ll need a little help,” Cas confirmed and Dean maneuvered a hand under his head, tipping him up to get his lips up to the rim of the bottle.

Then, Dean spilled the water into Cas’ mouth and a little down his face.

“Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Cas reassured. “More please.”

Dean helped him drink the rest of the bottle, still supporting Cas’ head, cradling the soft hair and heavy skull, so keenly aware of the fragile humanity Cas possessed.

“Let me check his blood pressure now,” the woman said, grabbing a stethoscope and a cuff to check it.

Dean watched as she puffed the cuff up and listened to Cas’ heart in his arm.

“Blood pressure’s higher now. He needs to rest though.”

Dean nodded. “Can we get him somewhere a little more comfortable?”

“I have a guest bedroom just down the hall. Let’s get him down there.”

“That would be great, thanks.” Dean smiled, truly grateful.

They carried Cas to the bed, setting him down gingerly. She gave him some space so he could help get Cas comfortable. He gingerly took Cas’ shoes and socks off, then moved to Cas’ belt to undo and shimmy Cas’ pants down so he was in his boxers and nothing else. Finally, he got the blanket over the sleeping angel and left the room with the lights off.

When Dean returned to the living room, the woman had scrubbed herself clean from blood and was wiping down the coffee table that had served as an operating table. At the sight of Dean, she threw the rags down and flopped down on the couch.

“I never did catch your name,” Dean admitted, flopping down next to her.

“Angela. But my friends call me Angie.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Angie. I appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m sure he would too if he was conscious.”

“You must really love him, huh? If you’re willing to be a hunter with a non-human sidekick.”

“Yeah. He’s done so much for me. I could never repay him, even if I had a million lives to live.”

“Wow. That’s pretty serious.”

“Very.” Dean agreed.

“Does he know?” she asked, giving him a serious look.

“Know what?” Dean was confused, eyebrows scrunching.

“How much you love him,” Angie said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I mean, you, I think he knows how much we care.”

“We?”

“Yeah, me and my brother, Sam.”

“Honey…” she trailed off for a second and gave him a withering look, “That’s not the kind of love I mean.”

Dean felt his face redden. “Oh,” was all he could muster.

“You do love him like that, don’t you?”

Dean couldn’t speak. Inside him, there was the voice _screaming_ “yes, yes, yes!” but this woman, Angie, was still a stranger. She may have seen through him, but he couldn’t admit it. He just shrugged.

“I see,” she said. “Well, I’ve had quite the day. I need a nap. You’re welcome to stay out here or do whatever you want. Sleep, or not. There’s food in the fridge. Help yourself.” She patted his knee before getting up and walking toward the back where Cas was sleeping.

When she was gone, he was left alone with his thoughts, with himself. He didn’t really care for that. A brief thought flashed into his mind of perhaps going to share the guest bed with Cas, of how nice it would have been to just go and curl up behind the angel and take a good long nap, but he shook the thought away. Instead, he took off his shoes and curled up onto the couch, using the decorative pillows to prop his head up. He was so dead-ass tired that it didn’t take much for him to fall asleep.

…

Dean wasn’t sure what time it was when he woke up, but his nose started twitching at the smell of bacon wafting in from the kitchen. Rolling off the couch and slipping his shoes back on, he expected to find Angie at the stove. Instead, she was seated at the table sipping a coffee and doing sudoku in the paper. Cas, fully dressed in his torn and bloody clothes, was standing barefoot at the stove instead.

“So, you’re cooking bacon?” Dean asked, unsure what else to say at that moment.

“Yep,” Cas responded as if he hadn’t been on the verge of death just a few hours ago.

Dean could see the time—7:30—blinking on the stove clock over Cas’ shoulder.

“I mean, how are you feeling, man?”

“Good,” Cas nodded, “grab some coffee.” he pointed to the pot on the counter.

“Right,” Dean said more to himself.

Angie pointed him to the right cupboard overflowing with mugs. He dumped a, in scientific terms, a shit ton of sugar into the dark, steaming liquid and then took a seat next to Angie where he could watch Cas’s back moving as he pushed the bacon around in the pan.

“You’re totally healed up?” Dean asked after a few silent sips of his coffee, wanting to drink it but not wanting to burn his mouth either.

Silently, Cas lifted up his shirt and spun around to show Dean the place on his belly where there should have been a scar.

“That answers that.”

“I meant to ask you boys,” Angie spoke up, setting her pen down—and god damn, she did sudoku in pen!—changing the subject, “how many vamps did you kill yesterday?”

“Eight, including the one who shot me,” Cas answered for them.

“Fuck,” Angie swore.

“That’s not good news,” Dean said, a pit forming in his stomach.

“No, no it’s not.” Angie was getting up and moving toward the front door, sticking her feet in her boots and pulling on a coat at the same time. “This is why I spent time doing surveillance and didn’t just bust into their nest with no plan! There are two more out there!”

“Fuck!” Dean said, springing up.

“What about the bacon?” Cas started to protest.

“Leave the bacon! You have to come with us now!” Dean shouted, following Angie out the front door to her pickup truck, not even waiting for Cas.

“I was just going to come back today to burn the bodies but now we have to find the other two fuckers that got away!” she yelled at Dean, already putting the car into drive before Dean could climb in after Cas. “See what kind of mess you two have made? They remember scents, so now they’ll be after us. We’re lucky it’s day time and sunny, but we were in danger all last night. I can’t believe how stupid you both are.”

“All right there, Angela. Ease up,” Dean said, defensively, white-knuckling the oh-shit handle.

“I’m not driving any slower.”

“Not on the driving,” he clarified.

“You two…have put my city in danger. So, yeah, I’m a little pissed,” she said, yet her voice was lightening as she spoke.

“We just wanted to help,” Dean admitted.

“I know. And I know you’re the infamous Dean Winchester, but you have to realize that you don’t always need to go sticking your nose in everyone’s paranormal problems when you aren’t invited.”

“What else are we supposed to do?”

“There are hunter networks for a reason. I know you want to think you can do this shit all by yourself because you’re just _that good_ , but you’re not. You’re getting older like the rest of us and you’ve done something reckless.” 

_Ouch_. He’d known this woman less than 24 hours and she was already cutting right to his every insecurity like a warm knife through butter.

“We’ll make it up to you,” he tried.

“We’re making it right, right now,” she said, slowing her truck to a stop on the side of the road.

It didn’t really look familiar, but then again it all looked about the same to him, all just big open farming fields.

“Angel, you coming?” she asked, hopping down to the grass.

Cas nodded and climbed out after her.

“Don’t get in the way.”

“I won’t,” he assured her.

“Now, we have to make sure we are on high alert. Our guards can’t be down, and we have to be ready for anything. Even if they should be sleeping right now, they could be taking their chances. The two left are going to be desperate now that their mates and, hell, their whole clan is gone.”

“Right.” Dean nodded.

“You and the angel circle the perimeter, stick together, and I’ll take the inside.”

Dean nodded and they followed her, cutting back into the tree line on one property so they could come from the back, giving them just a little bit of surprise in their attack. If that was even possible at this point since the vamps would definitely be on high alert and the fuckers were fast.

They trod as softly as they could through the woods, following Angie’s direction. Right then, it felt like walking up to a hornet’s nest after they had already riled up the stinging creatures and they were swarming angrily. But they didn’t have a choice. They had to take the vamps out before they hurt anyone else.

Before they could even get to the house, their path was blocked by two forms.

“Shit,” Dean swore as Angie was already firing shots at them.

 _Shoot now, ask questions never_ , Dean thought, reaching for his own gun and firing in the same direction. In seconds, the figures were right in front of them, snatching the guns and knocking them all to the ground.

The two vampires, a man and a woman, had incredibly sunburned skin, but clearly were too unhinged to care. Each of them had pressed one foot into Dean and Angie’s chests respectively.

“You killed my mate, my family,” the woman, dark-skinned and pretty save for the malicious snarl carved into her face, snapped at Dean who’s eyes flicked over to Castiel who was trying to get up.

“I don’t think so, bitch,” the woman said, going to knock Cas clean out with a kick to the head.

“Hey!” Dean yelled, trying to get up himself, but she was back before he could get very far, the point of her boot now dipping into Dean’s jugular notch in a very clear warning.

“We’re being lenient by not killing you on sight.” the man spoke up then. 

Clearly, the woman was the leader, the alpha. That got Dean’s brain going. His eyes slid over to Cas’s unconscious form. He needed a distraction. Just a few seconds. It was either going to come from Angie or it was going to come from Cas, but either way was going to put them at risk. He still had his little vial of dead man’s blood. All he would need to do was get a little on his knife and plunge it into her. The blood was only a day old, so it should still work.

He looked over to Angie and Angie was looking over at him, probably having the exact same thoughts. She knew what she had to do and she didn’t hesitate, arms immediately coming up to push at the foot on her chest, catching the other vampire by surprise. It was all the time Dean needed to slash open the bottle of blood with his knife and plunge the tip right into her exposed calf.

“You little shi—” she started to say but then toppled over, clearly unconscious.

The other vampire had had time to recover and was charging toward Dean. He dodged out of the vampire’s way and used his own machete to cleave the head off of the unconscious alpha. In that instance, before the other vampire could even reach Dean, he collapsed into a pile of ash.

“Woah,” Dean breathed heavily, “didn’t see that coming,” he admitted.

Angie was panting on the ground, face covered in the ash. She couldn’t even open her eyes to give Dean the withering look he knew she wanted to give him.

“You’d better help me up, and you’d better not say shit about the ash on my face,” she said, sticking a hand up for him to take.

He did so quietly, wishing he had a handkerchief to offer her to clean her face. Instead, she turned her back to him and wiped at her face rapidly, spluttering and coughing as she did so. Dean had the good grace not to laugh.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she finally said, turning back to him. “And maybe wake up your angel.”

“Right,” he said, going to crouch over next to Castiel.

He patted Cas’s face, just enough to try to wake him up.

“He better wake up, too. I’m not carrying him again.” Angie muttered, still swiping at her face angrily.

Dean patted a little harder and faster. “Dude, you gotta wake up. We’re not carrying you.”

He stood up then, grabbing Cas by the arm and starting to just drag the angel, hoping the discomfort was enough to wake him. It seemed to do the trick since Cas was scrambling up to his feet in seconds.

“You two are a fucking mess,” Angie said, laughing.

“Hey!” Dean protested half-heartedly.

Cas didn’t bother to argue.

“Come on. Let’s get back and finish that bacon and then I want you two to get the fuck out of here.”

Angie drove them back to her place to eat the cold bacon and then took them back to their motel. She wasn’t a warm woman so she didn’t hug them goodbye, but she told them to look her up if they were ever in town again. She was fine with working together, so long as Dean didn’t try to take a whole vamp nest by himself again. They agreed and then she drove off with no more pretext.

Dean started to head toward his motel room but Cas hung back, hesitant.

“What’s up, Cas?”

“I need to get back to heaven, to check on things.”

“Why?” Dean was surprised, “Can’t you just tune into angel radio to see what’s going on up there?”

“Uh,” Cas started to equivocate, “I’m not really...tapped into it anymore. So I need to be there in ‘person,’ so to speak.”

“Oh.” Dean didn’t really understand but he let it go, for now.

“Okay, well, thanks for the help on the hunt. Maybe next time will go a little better.”

Cas huffed a small laugh. “I hope so,” he said and vanished in the blink of an eye.

Dean trudged back inside the motel for some research on his next case and one more night of rest before he hit the road again.

But, being Dean Winchester, he didn’t just get a good night’s sleep. He laid in bed for half an hour, just long enough for visions of Sammy to run in his head.

“Promise me you’ll live a normal life, settle down, get out of the hunting business,” Sam had said to him before plunging to an eternity of torment in the pit.

Of course he wanted to honor his brother’s wishes, but how could he? He didn’t have anywhere he could settle down, nowhere that would feel right anyway. He considered calling Lisa, but that seemed wrong—he could disappear any time with them and they didn’t deserve that. Dean wasn’t enough of a fool to believe that the hunter life could ever truly leave him alone. So, he had his ass out there on the road, nearly getting killed regularly, and he was hard-drinking as much as ever. And fortunately him, there was a bar within walking distance of his hotel—it wasn’t a big city.

Clearly the bar was a local haunt, full of older people who didn’t give a shit about what day of the week it was and those who were still clinging onto youth by driving motorcycles in entirely too much leather. Perfect. Exactly the kind of people he wanted to be around.

He had time to kill and a little money to wager. So, he grabbed a beer and walked over to the pool tables. He waited until a game was won and then challenged the winner to a bet on the game. The older man, a biker with a long and thin ponytail, was eager to accept the challenge, clearly cocky. They put their money down and started the game, Dean letting the man break.

Quite a few drinks and lots of taunting later, Dean was leaning over the table to line up a shot when he felt a hand on his ass. He didn’t react, knowing it was the man he was playing with. Of all the things he expected that night, that was not one of them. He certainly wasn’t attracted to the man, but he would see if he could turn a profit off him.

“Are we done with pool?”

“If you wanna be,” the man said in his gravelly tone.

“Tell you what,” Dean said, still trying to line up his shot and trying not to look as affected as he really was, “give me the whole pot, and we can call it even. I’ll meet you out back.”

Dean could have suggested his motel room, but he didn’t want to somehow sully the sanctity of the space. So, the man grabbed the pile of money, tucked it into Dean’s pocket, and made his way outside. _Shit_. Dean could just leave. There was nothing stopping him, really. He could just slip out and get back to the motel. But he didn’t. Instead, he found the man smoking a cigarette near the dumpster out back of the bar. Upon seeing Dean, the man dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with his boot.

“Can I put my mouth on you?” He asked in a hoarse whisper when Dean was closer.

Dean vehemently did not want to kiss this man, not even a little. He faltered. “I…”

“No kissin’,” the man clarified, pushing Dean up against the brick.

Dean felt a rush of relief as the man-made quick work of Dean’s belt and zipper.

“Just wanna taste you,” the man said, dropping to his knees in front of Dean.

As the man began stroking him, Dean couldn’t help thinking about what would happen if Castiel showed up right then and there and saw what Dean was doing. Not that it was Cas’ business, but it was still embarrassing just the same.

“Why aren’t you getting hard?” The man asked in annoyance.

“Sorry, sorry, let me,” Dean grabbed himself away from the man and stroked.

He would never admit what it was he was thinking about, but it got him there nonetheless, and the man was able to wrap his mouth around him. From there, Dean let his mind wander, thinking about whatever he wanted to, imagining someone else doing this to him, reverently.

When he finished, the man swallowed everything and wiped his mouth. He thanked Dean and disappeared back into the bar. Dean returned to his motel room with his pocket and heart a little heavier. He felt bone-tired but he was in desperate need of a hot, searing shower. As the water was burning his skin, he resolved to dive right back into his hunting. He wasn’t going to get distracted and he was going to stretch his newly earned cash as much as he could.

When his blaring alarm went off the next morning, entirely too early for his liking, he really wished Sam was there. He could use someone, anyone, to help him with the research part—his least favorite part—of hunting. It was tedious and required a lot of skimming and scanning in newspapers and online. The things that were usually more his speed were usually buried too, short pieces that were mostly just there to take up space, generate content. But Dean desperately did not want to stay in Idaho if he could at all help so he packed his stuff up into the Impala and just started driving west. As he was driving, the idea hit him that he had been to Seattle a few times but never really gotten to _enjoy_ it. Maybe he could stand to do a few tourist things. Just a few. It was almost an 8-hour drive, something he could knock out in one day, and he could see the Pacific coast, maybe.

Dean had driven all crisscross through the continental U.S. and most of it looked pretty much the same. Especially in the Midwest. A small town is a small town, pretty much no matter where you went. Some places have mountains, some places have lakes or rivers, but really, everything between the coasts was just tiny city after tiny city. Dean had grown up in Lawrence, a sleepy little college town just west of Kansas City, so he was more used to “big” cities than little ones. They always unsettled him just a little.

On his way to Seattle, he took a little trip, just on the backroads like he liked to take Baby on, to visit a roadside attraction that had been on his list for a while. It was a hotel, inside a giant beagle--world’s largest, actually. That was it. Dean didn’t want to stay in the hotel, he just wanted to look at it. Was it stupid to go out of his way just to see a giant dog? Probably. But there was no one around to judge him for doing it. He was...alone. And he didn’t want to think about any of the things he knew he probably _should_ be thinking about.

The road up to the giant beagle was flat and yellow, just like everywhere in the Midwest and he’d been so damn bored, he even switched from cassette tapes to a thing called a podcast on his phone. It had been about cryptids and murder and aliens, and it truly tickled him to see the uneducated opinions on these topics when the hosts had no real idea about the things actually out there. It was better than sitting in his feelings, in his head. He nearly missed the hotel; it barely stood out from the road, looking almost like a regular building at first glance. But he managed to make the turn for it and parked the Impala in the dirt lot next to it. For some reason, he had been expecting people to be there, taking pictures but it was just him. It wasn’t like Cottonwood, Idaho was a major tourist destination. He got out of the car and started walking toward the dog when a woman came out of the main building.

“Hello!” she called, a smile plastered on her face.

 _Oh, great_ , Dean thought, _she’s going to ask me to pay to take a picture of the damn thing. All this driving for nothing_.

“Hi,” he said, trying not to be rude.

“We have a vacancy for tonight. Would you be interested in the room?”

Dean looked at the dog looming in the near distance. He had looked up the price a night online and had balked. It wasn’t crazy expensive, but that would be all the money he had earned the previous night gone in one go whereas that much could usually get at least two if not three nights at the places he usually frequented.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I really can’t afford it. Just wanted to see the dog, is all.”

She looked at him hopefully for a few more seconds but then gave up. “Okay. Can I take the picture for you?”

He wound up tipping her and leaving quickly, somewhat disappointed not in the site itself but just in the overall feeling he got from seeing it. He kind of wished he had stayed the night in it, but he kept on driving and tried not to think about it. Drowning out thoughts had become easier to do when he listened to the podcasts, even if he did find them a little silly.

Once he’d crossed over into Washington, he started looking for a place to stop. When he saw a town sign that had a watermelon on it, claiming “life is sweet here!” he pulled over. It seemed like any small town. He checked in at a chain motel and found the closest place to buy booze and food from his phone. He found a bowling alley, though he certainly wasn’t in the mood to bowl solo. He just needed a cold beer and a hot burger. Plus, the town was small enough, he could walk down there, get a little tipsy, grab a six-pack at a convenience store, and come back to the motel. So, that’s what he did.

But when he was drinking, he started feeling guilty. He ought to try to be working. He ought to be doing _something_ , in Sam’s name, in Cas’ name. Something. So he broke out his laptop—well, really, it was Sam’s laptop that he had bought, but Dean used it too so he considered it his—and cracked open a fresh cold one. He wasn’t sure where to start, really, so he just started typing in random words he thought might get a hit.

_Xsanginaton_

_Esanguintion_

_Exsagsyinatin_

Dean, with the cold beer bottle against his forehead, huffed another sigh of frustration, the haze of a buzz keeping him from remembering how the fuck to spell “exsanguination.” Where the fuck was Sam when he needed him? Eventually, inexplicably, he managed to navigate over to a porn site, watching just enough to get him really going before shutting the laptop and trying to finish himself off with just his thoughts. Dean could not say that he didn’t think about Cas while he stroked himself, but he would never admit it, even on threat of death. But there was no one around to give him a hard time so he came in his hand, washed off, and went to bed with little more fanfare.

In the morning, he regretted how much he had had to drink. He had a throbbing headache and was just a tad bit nauseous. If he didn’t hurry up and get some extra greasy breakfast food into him, he was sure he was going to die. Quickly, he did a search for breakfast on his phone and found a local diner that was within walking distance, so he started walking.

The blessed, sweet release of coffee came with the first real sip of the hot liquid. He was grateful to the waitress who served it and patiently took his order as he tried to read the menu with dark sunglasses on. It was clear from her carefully fixed expression that she knew exactly what was wrong with him. He could not be bothered to care when he was in the state he was in. Averted apocalypse or no, Dean wasn’t exactly a young man anymore. He was in his 30s and creepin’ on up, making binge drinking harder and harder on his body. That was one of the worst parts of growing older for him. He had to stop it soon.

He liked the town, despite it feeling much like any small town in America, or maybe because it felt that way; he was almost tempted to stay longer than he had intended, maybe a week. But visions of Cas bleeding out in front of him flashed into his mind. So far, he hadn’t let himself think about it too much, but he supposed he needed to. But with his head pounding like it was, maybe right then wasn’t the best time either.

When he managed to get back to the motel, he packed his bag and tossed it in the trunk, pulling out of the town. Maybe one day he’d come back. It was nice enough. If he ever saw that they were having his kind of trouble, he could try to be there.

…

Seattle was a big city, at least by Dean’s standards. But it was like any other city, with fine areas and worse areas, normal living situations. You would just turn a corner and run into a famous monument there. Turn a corner and BOOM there was the Space Needle. Or BOOM, there was Pike’s Place Market, and there was fucking _nowhere_ to park. And god damn, Dean didn’t fully consider that when he made the decision to go there. He’d only been there as a kid with his dad and Sammy and parking was the least of your worries at that age. After almost half an hour, he did manage to find some parking near Pike’s Place Market. It was farther than he usually would have liked, but he had to take what he could get. The place was crawling with tourists. And at that moment, he remembered why he never really went for that tourist experience.

But he finally got there and watched as the men started to throw fish around the market. Fish was never his favorite and he didn’t super care for the smell, but he liked the idea of just blending into the crowd of families and people with ostentatious cameras trying to snap the perfect picture of a soaring salmon. He laughed when the crowd laughed and clapped when they clapped too. 

He took his time in Seattle—saw the sites, went to the beach, relaxed at coffee shops, played pool in bars. But, after a couple of weeks by himself of blowing money and getting blown for money, Dean finally spotted something promising in a tabloid rag. A series of girls who had been friends and whose parents thought they were all in a vampire cult, had turned up missing.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Dean muttered to himself, making his way back to his shitty motel to pack up and start the trip to Illinois.

…

After weeks of not seeing Cas, the asshole popped into the passenger seat of the Impala, again.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” Dean said, trying not to show that he had been startled by the sudden entrance.

“What’s the case?” Cas said, instead of responding.

“I don’t think it’s a case you’d be interested in,” Dean said, thinking of the vamp nest he was heading straight toward. His deflection didn’t work.

“ _Where_ are we going?” Cas tried again, no emotion in his voice.

“Limestone, Illinois,” Dean said with a sigh.

“What’s in Limestone, Illinois?”

“A series of missing girls,” Dean equivocated.

“Are you sure it’s ‘our’ kind of thing?”

“Not really,” Dean lied, “but there’s only one way to find out.”

Cas was there. How was Dean going to pass this case off given the details? He supposed he’d just have to worry about it later.

“You got a monkey suit, Cas?” Dean asked, switching the topic, instead of grilling him on why he was fucking bleeding the last time he saw him.

“I can borrow one of yours,” Cas offered as if that was a normal thing for people to do. Just...borrow other people’s clothes. They didn’t have time for Dean to lecture Cas on social niceties. Instead, he focused his efforts on not thinking about Cas wearing his clothes.

“Well, when we get to the motel, I’ll see what I have that might work and we’ll go talk to some locals.”

…

Limestone was barely a town, and definitely not a city. It was clearly a farming community. No wonder the parents had noticed their kids doing weird stuff. They were probably just goths, Dean thought as they slowly drove toward the sheriff’s office. Fucking great. He drove all the way across the country for some satanic panic bullshit.

When they parked, he sighed. “Cas,” he started, “I think I might have gotten us involved in something not our speed.”

“What makes you so sure?” Cas said, the tie that Dean had tied for him somehow managing to be just as mangled and disorderly as his usual one.

Dean wanted to smile and laugh at how endearing that was, but he pushed it down to answer Cas’s question.

“Well, the case is about these three teenaged girls whose parents say they were in a...cult before they vanished. A big part of me thinks this might just be an...overreaction to children expressing themselves in an ‘alternative’ manner.” Dean explained.

“What kind of alternative manner?” Cas said, face scrunched up in that adorable way he got when he didn’t totally understand something.

“Like, black eyeliner, dark clothes, obsessed with knives. Goths.”

“Oh,” Cas said, in a way that meant he clearly did not understand.

“They’re harmless. Probably made some kind of pact between the three of them and ran off.”

“Well, shouldn’t we still talk to the sheriff’s office just in case? If we can’t help, we can leave. If we can, then we’re here.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

…

They flashed their badges at the receptionist at the front desk of the sheriff’s office as they busted in the front door. They found the cockier they were, the less they were questioned.

“FBI?” the woman said, a bit alarmed.”

“Yes,” Dean offered with no other word.

She sighed. “I’ll get the sheriff then.”

She disappeared for a bit behind the desk. Dean and Cas stood still and silent, apprehension coursing through Dean. He didn’t want to be there; he didn’t want Cas to be there. Could they just leave right now? How would that look? He didn’t have time to keep on that train of thought because an elderly, white gentleman with white facial hair stepped out.

“Gentleman?” he addressed them. “Can’t say I’m excited to see you here but I also am scratching my head as to why you might be here.”

“We’ve got three girls missing--” Dean started but was cut off.

“Runaways,” the sheriff so helpfully supplied.

“We have reason to believe they’ve been taken across state lines,” obviously a lie, but one Dean knew was a well-established reason for the FBI to get involved in a local case, “and therefore it becomes our jurisdiction.”

“And what reason is that?” the sheriff challenged.

“Classified information,” Dean covered fast.

“Well, if it’s your case now, good luck,” the sheriff waved them off and walked off.

Dean and Cas looked at each other, hearing the woman behind the desk snickering at them. Dean deeply wanted to flip her the bird but instead, he smiled as sweetly as he could.

“Could we please get the addresses of the families involved?”

…

Dean’s face was still pretty enough to get them some things. They walked up the front steps of the one-story ranch house of the first family they were given the address of--the Smith Family, go figure.

“Mrs. Smith,” Dean spoke through the screen. “I’m Agent Cooper and this is Agent Truman. We’re here about your daughter.”

“You got a warrant?” The woman asked.

Dean was shocked by her response. “Uh, no.”

“No warrant, no entry.”

“We’re here to help, ma’am…” he tried, but she jumped down his throat.

“No warrant, no entry.” And she slammed the door in his face.

“That was highly unusual,” Cas remarked.

“No kidding,” Dean grumbled. “Come on.”

They got back in the car and searched for the next address.

At the next house, the Newsoms, they were allowed in the house.

“May we see her bedroom?”

The mom, smoking a cigarette, nodded and led them down the incredibly narrow hallway to the second bedroom on the right.

“This is it,” she announced, opening the door.

The room seemed...fairly innocuous. The bedroom of a teenaged girl, some band posters on the wall and black books with red cursive fonts on the bookshelves.

“Say,” the mother asked Dean as Cas dutifully moved around the room snapping pictures on his phone, “what’s the FBI doin’ gettin’ involved in this anyway?”

“We have reason to believe she may have been taken over state lines, human trafficking.”

The mother, seeming very calm and unconcerned up to that point, covered her mouth with both hands as she gasped loudly. She was clearly holding back tears. “My baby,” she whispered. “I thought...maybe she just...ran off, with that Keely girl…”

 _Fuck_ , Dean thought. He hadn’t meant to put unnecessary stress on this innocent mother. 

“I mean, I know the two were on online chats and all, but I didn’t think they would be stupid enough to tell someone where they lived!”

“Is her phone still here?” Cas asked.

“No, not that I know of. We tried to track it but I think she turned that feature off. Didn’t want us snooping on her and her friends,” the mother explained weepily.

“I see the computer is still here,” Cas said, walking over to it. “We’ll need to take a look at that.”

Sniffling, the mom nodded. “Of course.”

“Any other personal items you’ve noticed are missing?”

“She was so secretive. If there were things missing, I wouldn’t even know.”

“I understand,” Dean said, trying to give her a sympathetic look.

“I need to, um, go talk to my husband. Take your time, gentleman.”

As soon as they were sure she was far enough away not to hear them whispering, Cas turned to Dean with narrowed eyes.

“ _Human trafficking?_ ” He asked, incredulous.

“I don’t know! I couldn’t think of anything else on the spot as to why we would think the child went over state lines!”

“That poor woman,” Cas looked to the door where she had walked away. “I hope her daughter is still alive.”

“Me too,” Dean sighed. “Now, can you get us into the computer?”

“What, you think I can just miracle hack our way into her chats?”

“Basically,” Dean shrugged.

Cas sighed and touched two fingers to the open laptop. It bypassed the login screen and took them to the internet browser. It was open to a chat called “real vampires.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Dean muttered to himself as he started reading through the chat.

The last few messages had been about the other person being in town and that he (or she, but more than likely he) would text them (the several teenaged children chatting in the group).

“So, either this is definitely our kind of thing, which is pretty weird for them to be so open about it on the internet, or we’ve got ourselves a pervert in town,” Dean explained to Cas.

“‘Real vampires,’” Cas read over Dean’s shoulder, incredulous. “Has to be just a pedophile.”

“Any chance you can trade the IP address for whoever this ‘l.lioncourt1760’ is?”

Cas fixed Dean with an unamused look.

“So, that’s a no, huh?”

Cas didn’t deign to answer.

“Well, this probably isn’t our thing, but if I can kick a pedophile in the dick, I think I’ll be happy.”

“Well, how do you propose we find him, Dean?”

“It’s a small town, Cas. How hard could it be? Also, we have one more family to visit. Maybe there’ll be some clues there.”

…

“Suzanne had gotten herself mixed up with a couple other girls who are just…” the mother of the third girl explained, dropping her voice to a whisper, “some trashy girls.”

“We understand, ma’am,” Dean said, looking around the girl’s room. It was very much a facsimile of the other girl’s.

“Their family moved here a couple of years ago, they’re not from around here. We’re not a big fan.”

“I see,” Dean said, trying to hold his tongue. Sure, the family had been a little rude, but they had been well within their rights to request a warrant. Dean didn’t care for the weird prejudices of small towns.

“I think she’s been talking to people online, but she has her computer password protected so I can’t get in. I’ve threatened to have the internet turned off, but it didn’t seem to work. And now she’s run away.”

“Run away? What makes you think that?”

“She left a note,” her mother explained. 

“ _A note?_ ” Cas popped his head up from where he was bent over examining the girl’s bookshelf.

“Can we see the note?” Dean asked.

The mother nodded, fishing it from her pocket. She handed it to Dean, and Cas came over to read the note over his shoulder. Dean was keenly aware of Cas’ proximity and he wanted to remind the angel about personal space but he held his tongue in front of this stranger in order to maintain an air of professionalism.

The note read:

_Mom, the girls didn’t want me to tell you where we are going but I wanted you to know I’ll be okay. I love you and I’ll miss you._

Not the most helpful note, but it clearly meant the girls hadn’t (knowingly, at least) been kidnapped. 

“What are the chances they’re still here in town?” Dean whispered to Cas.

“Ma’am,” Cas addressed the mother, “may we have a moment?”

She looked just a little weepy but nodded, turning and walking out of the room.

“They have to still be here,” Cas said, spinning around to take in the room.

“Can you like...track their energy or whatever? The way you do for me?” Dean asked, hopefully.

Cas fixed him with a withering look. “They are not you, Dean. Or even your brother.”

Dean tried not to wince at the mention of his brother. The wound was still...open.

“Well, assuming they’re here, assuming this is just a pedo, would he have them in a hotel? He wouldn’t risk being seen, right? Should we look for abandoned property around town?” Dean asked, shifting the conversation.

“Let’s check this computer and see if we can find any clues,” Cas suggested, using a tiny bit of his magic to bypass the computer’s login screen. 

They snooped around and saw the girl had been talking to the same guy in the same chat room. There didn’t seem to be any new information in the main chat, but they found that the man had directly messaged this girl. There, they found the meeting spot.

“Seriously? He had them meet at a playground?” Dean sneered. He knew that no matter what they found, he was looking forward to chopping this guy’s head off. 

“Let’s see where this playground is and see if there are any abandoned buildings around it,” Cas suggested.

Dean pulled up a map and changed it to aerial view once they found the playground. At first it just sort of seemed like there was nothing around, but then Cas made his little squinty face that Dean found endearing as all hell, and put his finger right on the screen.

“There,” he said, and Dean had to squint to see too. 

Right where Cas was pointing, there was a tiny clearing where just a bit of roof was visible under the canopy of trees. It was difficult to say if there was an actual building there, especially given there wasn’t a road close by, but it was the best lead they had.

“Anything else before we go storming what could or could not be an actual building?” Dean asked, zooming the map out a bit to check the other directions.

Cas scrutinized the pixels beaming back at their eyes but couldn’t find anything.

“I think this is the best chance we've got,” Cas admitted.

“Well, let's go get this sonuvabitch, then,” Dean nodded, exiting out of the map and logging off the computer.

They gave the note back to the mother as they exited and thanked her for letting them into her home. She begged them to bring her little girl home. Dean only hoped that he could, but he never made promises just in case he couldn’t keep them.

“We’ll have to park at the park with the playground and walk to whatever this structure is,” Cas said, turning the cellphone in his hand and he examined the map there.

He’d significantly improved his “human” navigation skills and was much more able to do it on the fly than before.

“Let’s take off the monkey suits before we go storming anywhere with machetes swinging,” Dean suggested.

Cas didn’t miss a beat, immediately started stripping out of the black coat he’d been wearing and swapped it for his usual tan overcoat. Not much of a change there, but Dean loosened his tie and unbuttoned his own jacket before flinging them both into the back seat. He wasn’t comfortable in that kind of formal wear. The dressed-down look would have to do for this hunt. If he was lucky, he’d only get some blood on the white shirt that was easily removed by hydrogen peroxide and a good bleaching.

The town was tiny, so it didn’t take that long for them to find the park and park the Impala in the empty lot. Dean took a good look around to make sure no one was watching, just in case, and then popped the trunk. He didn’t think he’d need guns, but he tucked a few away, just in case, and then grabbed his trusty vamp-killing machete.

“I doubt this is a real vampire case,” Dean said aloud, “otherwise, I would go get some dead man’s blood.”

Castiel nodded his agreement.

“I’m still gonna decapitate this fucker,” Dean continued, giving the machete an exploratory swing. “All right. Let’s go.”

Cas led the way, finding what could have been an unmarked hiking trail that was leading them in the approximate correct direction. The tree cover was pretty dense. It was a wonder Cas noticed the structure at all on the satellite image. And, as they drew nearer to the location, Dean began to worry it wasn’t a true lead, that it wasn’t a real building, and that they were on a wild goose chase.

After walking for several minutes, clinging to the handle of the machete with a sweaty palm, they saw what looked like a rough-hewn cabin just off the trail. With his machete, Dean cleared the brush that led up to it. It seemed like there used to be a path, like it used to be used, but it was mostly grown back. Nature reclaims.

“There are definitely life forms inside the building,” Cas was able to confirm, squinting in concentration toward the structure.

“The second we get close, a vampire will be able to smell us. Or, me. Do you even have a smell?” Dean fixed him with a quizzical look.

The angel frowned and attempted to smell himself by sniffing his arm. 

“I think so?” He shrugged.

“You look for the kids; I’m going for the pedo,” Dean instructed, holding his machete up in a defensive pose.

In a matter of seconds, the door to the cabin flew open and three rabid teenaged girls came flooding out. Dean dodged them and let the powerful angel take care of wrestling with them, hoping it would keep them off him since he was human and their bloodlust should have been kicking in. He didn’t look back, but he was pretty sure he could hold his own in a fight against three thirteen-year-old girls, vampires or not. 

Knowing he was walking into an ambush anyway, he entered the rickety cabin. It was no surprise that he was knocked to the ground and a heavyweight was on top of him.

“You’ll make a great snack for my girls,” a distinctly older male voice said in his ear, “just enough to turn them fully.”

Dean’s machete was still in his hand. He used it to knock the butt of it against the side of the vampire’s skull. It was enough to startle the vampire and get him off Dean, allowing Dean to scramble to his feet. The vampire was left lying on his back on the ground. He laughed up at Dean who was wielding the machete menacingly at the vampire.

“You going to kill me?” The vampire taunted.

“That’s the idea, yep,” Dean confirmed.

“You left your guy out there, completely unprotected. They’re gonna feed on him and become full vampires, so even if you kill me, it’ll be too late. And you’re no match for the three of them.”

“I’m not sure you know who I am,” Dean was a bit shocked about the balls on this guy and that he really was a vampire, not just a pedophile, though he was that too.

“I’m Dean fucking Winchester. And my guy out there, he’s a fucking angel of the lord. Your ‘girls’ are no match for _him_.”

That made the guy’s eyes go wide. Not Dean’s name, but the angel business. Now, he strained clearly to try to hear what was going on outside. There were some clear sounds of a fight but it didn’t sound like the girls were dead or were killing Cas.

“By the way, why thirteen-year-olds?” Dean really wanted to hear this guy say it, give Dean the best reason to chop his head off.

“They’re just easy targets, desperate to become vampires,” the guy got out of his mouth, stuttering.

It was almost like he realized that even if he got away from Dean, or even killed him, he was a goner because a freaking _angel_ was just outside.

“That’s what I thought you’d say, you fucking pedophile,” Dean said, pulling back the machete to strike and letting gravity do the rest, slicing through most of his neck.

Blood splattered up and out and started to leak out onto the dusty, dirty floor, creating little rivers. Outside, the sounds of a struggle had stopped. Dean left the cabin to see three disoriented young girls grabbing and pulling at Cas like lost children begging for help in the supermarket.

“Where are we?” One of them asked, looking between the man she had been fighting with and the blood-covered Dean.

“What’s going on?” asked another one.

Dean looked at them, unsure what to say to them. To tell the truth or not to tell them the truth…

“You guys will be okay,” Dean promised. “We need to get you back to the playground.”

“What’s in that cabin?” The third girl asked, making like she was going to go in.

Dean blocked her, knowing he didn’t look trustworthy now that he was covered in blood and carrying a bloody machete. It didn’t look good at all. He tried to rub at his face to clear off some of the blood, but he was sure he looked deranged just the same.

“A bad man did some bad things to you guys, but you’re okay now,” he explained.

“You mean Mr. Lioncourt?” One of the girls asked.

Dean nodded. “He didn’t have your best interests at heart,” he explained. “We need to get you back home. Follow us to the playground.”

Of course, the girls all seemed hesitant. But then they looked to each other and silently agreed that they could trust Dean. He didn’t know why but it helped in that he wouldn’t have to fight them to get them back home. Small blessings.

On the way back, Dean took the lead and Cas lagged a bit behind, allowing them to keep an eye on the girls.

“Ladies,” Dean said to them over his shoulder, “we came to help you but we can’t take you back to your parents ourselves. We’re gonna get you back to the park and call the police to come pick you up, okay?”

One of the girls pulled up next to him. “What happened? Why can’t I remember?”

Dean hesitated, eyes flicking back to Cas for affirmation. If he didn’t have to tell the girl that vampires were real, he wouldn’t. But before he could even try to make up an excuse, she whipped around in front of him and caused him to stop in his tracks. The other girls stopped and watched too. Clearly, this girl was the leader. 

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll tell the cops you two are nasty pedo molesters who kidnapped us!” She screamed, loudly.

 _Holy shit_. Dean was not accustomed to kids talking back like that. Teenagers were way above his pay grade. He put his hands up in placation.

“That guy you guys were chatting with...he was a real vampire. A real fucking creep, too, if you ask me. But he turned you guys. We were able to kill him before you guys could feed on a human and become full vampires.”

The girl crossed her arms, looking unimpressed. “You know, we _wanted_ to be vampires, right?”

Dean felt something in his stomach drop at that.

“You would have become monsters. It’s better this way,” Dean tried to reason, knowing he’d just been bullied by a 13-year-old.

She seemed put out by it but otherwise wasn’t putting up a fuss. Since she was the leader, the others followed suit. When she continued to walk, clearly leading the way back to the playground, the rest of the group fell in line behind her including Dean. What a bizarre world.

When they reached the playground, Dean told the group of girls to take care of themselves and that he would call the sheriff after they had driven mostly out of town. They didn’t want to be anywhere near the scene when it all went down. The girls agreed and sat down on the park bench to wait.

“I’m exhausted,” Cas admitted from the passenger seat of the Impala.

At first, Dean didn’t register the comment as he pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive east, hopefully far away from that unpleasant little burg.

“Wait, what?” Dean said as he found his way to the north-south highway.

“I need to nap,” Cas looked right at Dean then. 

Dean felt the eyes on him but couldn’t turn to look. Instead, he was forced to make a decision at the I-57 junction. Turn right and head south for an indeterminate amount of time before they got to a city with a motel or turn left and head north for a short period of time to stop in or near Chicago. He turned left onto the six-lane interstate.

“I guess we can check out Lake Michigan tomorrow,” Dean said, mostly to himself. “Can you hang in there for thirty minutes?”

He finally looked over at the angel. Cas’ hand had dipped under his shirt collar, but he pulled it out when Dean looked at him. There was the familiar sight of sticky red clinging to the angel’s fingers.

“Cas!” Dean gasped, swearing the Impala dangerously, “where are you bleeding? Again?”

“The girls…bit me? Why hasn’t it stopped?”

“Shit,” Dean pulled off the road and onto the shoulder, turning on the emergency flashers.

He had a first aid kit in the trunk, though he did feel a bit skittish about opening the trunk on the shoulder of a busy interstate. But he had to do what he had to do, so he crawled out of the car, cracked the trunk just enough, and pulled the kit out.

“Cas, can you take your coat and shirt off so I can see where you’re bleeding?”

While Cas laboriously took his clothes off, Dean pulled out the alcohol wipes, gauze, and medical tape. There were several sets of marks all over Cas’ neck and torso, all bleeding but none profusely.

“Okay, it’s not too bad. You haven’t lost too much blood. It is interesting drinking your blood didn’t cause them to fully turn, so you’re definitely not human, but what’s with all this bleeding?” Dean was rambling as he carefully swabbed and dressed all the different wounds.

“‘M not sure,” Cas muttered, looking like he was about to doze off.

“Stay with me, bud,” Dean implored, patting Cas’ face to try to keep him up. “Just like, thirty minutes to get outside of Chicago, okay?”

Cas nodded and Dean helped him back into his clothes. Then, he got him buckled back into his seat before putting the first aid kit back in the trunk and pulling the car off the shoulder. If Dean pushed the Impala a little past what it could reasonably go, he justified it by saying it was only half an hour. Every few minutes, he would peek over at Cas to see if the angel was still awake. If not, he’d pat at his face until he was.

Finally, they stopped at a hotel near Calumet Park. Dean left Cas in the running car and asked for a room. It took a little longer to get sorted that he would have liked, considering he had to figure out which fraudulent credit card he could put the room on—no cash. With the key in hand, he got back into the car and patted Cas’ face once more.

“We’re here. I need you to be awake so we can get to the room. It’s on the second floor.”

“Goodie,” Cas slurred a little but he was awake. 

Dean grabbed one of his duffel bags from the back and then came around to help Cas out of the passenger side. Duffel on one shoulder, Cas leaning on the other, he started the arduous process of getting them into the hotel room. It was nicer than what he was used to, cleaner and better smelling overall. But they really couldn’t afford to keep doing places like it, not with the credit cards he had. He hadn’t scammed in a while and he knew the ones he was carrying were going to come trying to collect any day. It’s just one night, he told himself, flopping Cas down on the bed closest to the bathroom.

“We’re here. You should at least take your shirt and coat off before you fall asleep,” Dean advised, knowing the nightmare of waking up hot and sweaty all twisted up in your choking clothes.

Cas made a half-assed attempt to disrobe. Dean sighed and went to help, pulling the coat off with some difficulty since Cas refused to move and then awkwardly unbuttoning the collared shirt beneath it. He couldn’t get that off, though, because the shirt was cuffed at the wrists. He struggled to get that undone, but finally, he did, leaving the undershirt on still. Then, he moved down to the shoes, knowing it’s no fun to wake up in shoes. Cas looked, he wasn’t sure, but maybe vulnerable was the right word. It was disarming and...adorable? Was it adorable? God, Dean almost opened his big, stupid mouth right then and there. The confession was at the back of his throat. But he pushed it down, down into the pit of his stomach to let it curdle into mold and rot.

He took a hot shower, tried not to think about it too much, about Cas. Was it endearing to see him sleepy like that? Yes, of course. Was it also entirely terrifying to see this mighty angel bleeding and tired? Hell fucking yes. Was he gonna tuck it away for the morning? Very much, yes.

When he came out, he glanced over at Cas to see the angel deep in sleep. Something was very wrong. He rummaged in his duffel bag for some sleep clothes. After sniffing most of the items in it, it occurred to him he would need to do laundry at some point. For that moment, he pulled out some possibly clean boxers and a definitely not clean t-shirt before settling into his own bed for a fitful sleep.

…

Dean couldn’t say he was surprised by the fact that Cas was gone when he woke up. Was he happy about it? No. But could he do much about it? Also, no.

“Guess I’ll take myself to get some breakfast,” he muttered, picking up the little bit he had unpacked in the room the night before. “Gonna have to be McDonald’s, though,” he admitted when he pulled his wallet out to look at what his money options were.

He had wanted to see the lake, thought it would be nice to share with Cas, but he supposed he ought to go anyway since he was up there. Holy fuck, was it cold though. He hadn’t really anticipated the kind of wind that would be coming off the giant body of water. After a few minutes of just standing and looking out at the water that had not yet begun to freeze, he surveyed the area and then got back in the Impala. From there, he started heading south. Florida sounded nice. Sunshine, beaches, babes. What wasn’t to like?

So, he started driving south. It was a long stretch of lonely road. The cassette tapes stopped working so well, and he just wished Sam was there by his side. Yeah, maybe he had gone a little soft for his baby brother and he liked having company. He didn’t want to be doing things alone, but where else did he have to go? He was running low on cash and the credit cards he’d scammed were close to max, so he had to just kind of catch snatches of sleep at rest stops and parks when he saw them when he needed it. Was it ideal? No, but the back seat of the Impala was flat and surprisingly wide and accommodating. He was able to get relatively comfortable naps there. He only got told to move along by a cop once all the way down to Daytona Beach. Not bad, by all accounts.

…

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from Daytona Beach. In a way, for a boy from a small Kansas town, it was like his Paris. But when he showed up, the Eiffel Tower was just a tall hunk of metal and the streets were dirty and smelled like piss. Except, Daytona was just a tiny beach community that liked to play at being in the big time for the cameras. The spring break strip wasn’t but a few blocks and the rest of the city was just...a small beach community. Sandy and sunbleached.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” He asked himself as he rummaged through all his clothes and found not a single clean garment in the lot. “Fuck. Guess I can go get some quarters for the laundromat…”

But that didn’t exactly sound appealing. What if he took the couple bucks he had left and see if he could turn some kind of profit hustling pool? It was 2 pm—most seedy dive bars are open by then. There were bound to be a couple ole codgers hanging around who’d be willing to take him up on his offer. Plus, he could go for a whiskey. Let it never be said that Dean Winchester doesn’t know how to manage his money.

Surprisingly, even with a couple of beers in him, he was able to flip a couple hundred on a pool game. Looking at the snaggle-toothed, old sun-baked men in the bar, he was glad that was the only way needed to make any money. God. He was tired of having to hustle for money. There has to be a better way, he thought as he paid for his drinks and started to numbly meander toward the beach. He left the Impala since it was a short walk, easy to find with just your nose.

He got to thinking as the chill wind picked up, about whether this life was worth the cost, whether his life was worth the cost. He was getting old and he was alone. He was exactly where he was months ago when this whole “post-apocalypse” world started and no one knew but him. As the sand grew soft where he created the dunes at the edge of the beach, sand started to seep into his shoes. He didn’t usually like the vulnerability of being barefoot, but since it was clearly the off-season and there were really only beach joggers out, he didn’t mind so much. 

Once he got over the small dunes, the sand was hard and smooth from so many vehicles driving on it. It was less like walking on a beach and more like walking on concrete. Even still, the view was beautiful and he had an aching in his stomach; he wished Cas was there to experience it with him. Or hell, Sam would have enjoyed it too. And he probably would have looked silly with his moosey hair flopping around in his face.

He hadn’t really known what he had expected from Daytona Beach since it was September. Still, it was a hell of a lot warmer than Chicago. And prettier. Chicago had been cloudy and grey, though the skyline had been a sight to see. He was much happier at the beach. So, he allowed himself to enjoy the breeze and warm sand and walk along for a while. It was nice, but it was lonely.

Sighing, he made his way back to the Impala, now sober. He needed a motel for the night since he could afford it, and sleeping horizontally on an actual mattress—even if it was the hardest mattress on the planet - just...not sleeping in a car sounded heavenly.

He didn’t have to drive far in order to find a motel with vacancies. The streets were littered with them (once you got away from the high rise oceanfront properties) and dingy, run-down bars. It made him sad as he pulled into one of the parking lots. Really, he didn’t know what he was expecting, but the squalor of the entire city was truly shocking. It made him feel dirty just being there. But, he needed to stop for a little bit. He’d been driving for days, and he had nothing but dirty laundry.

Even with a cursory glance around the parking lot, he wasn’t so sure he would be able to turn any kind of tricks in a town like this. The hotel clerk was behind some plastic, clearly not trusting patrons, and barely spoke a few words to Dean, accepting his cash without batting an eye. More and more these days, it was required to use a credit card so he was lucky. When he got to his room, he stripped the bed of everything but the top sheet and got in without brushing his teeth or showering. He was too tired to care and was out in a matter of minutes.

…

Of course, the motel didn’t have a continental breakfast, but he woke up ravenous. There was a Denny’s within walking distance in the opposite direction of the beach, so he pulled on some shoes and made his way over there. It was peaceful and mundane, but it got him going. When he got back, he decided to do some laundry so he could at least have some clean underwear going forward.

Fortunately, there was a laundry facility on the property, though it wasn’t free. He had to pay to run the machines and pay for the detergent. With his duffle of dirty clothes and his laptop, he went down there prepared to be a while. With the first load in the washer, he opened up his computer and connected to the slow WiFi. It was free, though, so he couldn’t complain too much. He checked over both shoulders to make sure no one was paying attention to him, he began his usual search he used when trying to find vampire cases. If he was going to be there, might as well check the area. He was pretty sure he had found a case in Deltona, which wasn’t far from Daytona Beach at all when another person came in. At first, he didn’t really pay attention to who came in, still just doing his research and thinking of getting ready to ride out there, when he finally looked up when the person disrobed and shoved their clothes into the washer. _What the fuck_ , he thought. But then, he recognized that same chestnut hair, that profile.

“Castiel?” He called to the bare back standing stock-still in front of the washer, engrossed in the colors swirling in the front loader.

At his name, Castiel turned around sharply and fixed Dean with an intense stare.

“What are you doing? And how long have you been here?” Dean demanded, taken aback. 

“I am...unsure. Time is not…linear for me the way it is for you. But I think I’ve been here since I left you in Chicago.”

“That was a few days ago. I thought...you went back to heaven. Why the hell would you come here?”

“I...don’t think I did,” Cas looked confused, “Perhaps my Grace was drawn here, knowing you would come.”

“Before even I knew I was going to come?” Dean was, all together and all over again, completely awe-struck by the angel—by angels at all--though he couldn’t say if it was a positive or negative thing.

“Like I said, time is not linear,” Cas tried to explain again.

“So, you just pop in wherever you feel like it?”

“Well, usually there is a reason…”

“What might the reason for being here be?”

“I truly do not know,” Cas admitted.

Dean hated himself for it, but even as he sat there speaking to the angel, he was distracted by the angel’s vessel’s bare chest. _Fuck_.

“Well, we’re here now,” Dean said, tearing his eyes away from Cas’ chest. “I was just looking for a new case. I don’t think I want to stay here long.”

“There is much depravity here,” Cas said hazily.

“Yeah, it wasn’t what I imagined it would be.”

“A great many things do not live up to our expectations,” Cas said, suddenly very clear, fixing Dean with a penetrating gaze.

“Well, you can come on the hunt with me if you want. Though, after last time…”

“I can be useful, Dean,” Cas interjected.

“Okay,” Dean held his hands up in supplication. “Right now, we gotta finish up our laundry. No use you going out looking like that.” He tried to joke but he was very much enjoying the view. 

“Should we go swimming, Dean?”

His name in Cas’ mouth did something to him.

“Too cold. Not the right time of year.”

“Could we walk on the beach before we go?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Dean was flustered, but he nodded. “Once we’re done here. Might as well sit and get comfortable. This’ll take a couple of hours.”

Cas sighed and slumped into the chair next to Dean. “What’s the case?” He asked.

Dean couldn’t tell Cas the case. He just couldn’t. “Uh, I haven’t really found anything yet.”

“Oh,” Cas nodded.

There was nothing Dean had to say to Cas. What do you say to a weird, unsocial angel who you carry a giant, flaming torch for? Do you make small talk about the weather? Do you ask him how his day is going? How’s that war in heaven coming along? Oh, horribly? That’s why you’re down here with me instead of up there?

“I…” Cas tried to speak, but cut himself off.

Dean wanted to look at him but he knew it was easier to say things when people aren’t looking directly at you, so he kept his eyes on the swirling front loader washers.

“I can’t go back to heaven,” Cas admitted after a beat.

“What, like you don’t want to or...” Dean tried to supply.

“They’ve kicked me out. They kicked me out a while ago…”

“So, all the times you left, you weren’t in heaven?”

“No,” Cas admitted. “I was...here.”

Dean felt something hit in the stomach at that. “What, in Daytona?”

“No,” Cas said, shaking his head, “here, this motel. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but when I’m not with you, I’m here.”

“I’ve been purposefully looking for vampire cases since the apocalypse ended,” Dean blurted out.

Cas’ eyes scrunched in confusion. “I...was wondering about that. Two times...felt more than just a coincidence. Three times, that’s a pattern. So, what are you planning?”

“Look, I weighed my options. There are plenty of immortal creatures out there in the world. Vampire seemed like the least terrible option out of all of the ones I know about.”

Cas had a contemplative look on his face before he spoke. “So, you weren’t trying to...get yourself killed? Because of your brother?”

Dean was stunned into momentary silence. “ _What?_ ”

“That had been my running theory.” He shrugged. “I figured you didn’t want to live without your brother, but couldn’t actually end it yourself.”

“It’s not about Sam!” Dean bit out, defensive now.

“Good, because your brother—” Cas was interrupted.

“It’s about you.”

And there it was, escaped from the confines of his chest, out in the open. He couldn’t take it back now.

“Dean,” Cas’ tone of voice broke Dean’s heart.

 _Here comes the rejection_.

“You wanted to be immortal _for me?_ Why? Why would you want that?”

“Cas, you’re really going to make me spell it out?”

Cas was staring at him intently now, but he did not seem to have any intention of speaking. Dean took a deep breath. _Time to die_ , he thought.

“I...love you. God, this is really not the place I thought this conversation might take place.”

“I love you too, Dean.”

“No, I mean, I’m _in_ love with you. Like, I’m interested in you romantically...and stuff.”

“I understand you perfectly. I’m saying that I feel the same.”

Dean’s stomach fell out and onto the floor.

“What?”

“Dean, don’t be obtuse. You understand me.”

How do you process that kind of information? What does it even mean? Could they be together?

“Are you...they kicked you out of heaven? What does that mean?”

“I suspect you are on the right track with that,” Cas confirmed. “I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I do believe I have been cut off from Grace, that it is finite, and when it runs out…”

“You’ll be human,” Dean supplied.

“I believe so.”

“Oh…maybe we don’t have to do a hunt for a while.”

“Can we go to the beach first?”

“When the laundry finishes.”

“Yes, of course.”

It got silent after that for a while, waiting. The conversation was still...difficult. Dean felt exhausted just from that small conversation they just had. And he just sat there, a warm pit in his stomach, the realization that they had said they loved each other just sitting there like it was no big deal. They hadn’t changed. Nothing was different. But should it be?

When the clothes were finally done, Cas redressed, pulling on his slacks and button-down shirt.

“Why did you need to wash your clothes, anyway?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. Something just told me I needed to come down here and put my clothes into the washer.”

“Let’s get to the beach. We can drive onto it.”

Cas nodded and followed Dean out to the Impala. They watched as a woman, clearly a working girl, walked over to another car and leaned down to speak to the person through the window. Dean felt his stomach roll, wondering if Cas knew about some of the things he’d had to resort to in order to make money to sustain hunting. He didn’t look at Cas in that moment. Instead, they got into the car and took off from the motel. He’d only booked a room for one night and hadn’t unpacked so they were clear to go.

They drove for a while and found an entrance onto the beach, driving in to park near a few other cars. Other than that, they weren’t very busy at all. It was still early morning and the people out were mostly walking or jogging, local types.

With the ocean breeze whipping around his hair, Dean felt himself relax, just a little. Things, maybe, would be okay. He pulled his shoes off and started walking, not waiting for Cas because he was suddenly feeling the pull of the ocean. He drew closer to the water but stopped before the waves could lap at his toes. Behind him, he heard swift footfalls—Cas was jogging to catch up with him.

He didn’t turn to look at Cas, just kept walking along the shore. When Cas’s hand reached out to grab his wrist, gently, just barely there, Dean startled and blushed a little, but he didn’t move away. At the encouragement, Cas moved his hand farther down, lacing his fingers with Dean’s. It was nice, though Dean couldn’t help furtive glances around to see if anyone was looking at them. No one was. He tried to relax. Cas _loved him back_.

They walked along like that for a while, enjoying the wind and the contact, the tranquility. It was almost like they were two normal people in love. But the fantasy had to break. They couldn’t stay and they went back to the car.

“Don’t get sand in my car,” Dean warned playfully.

“I’ll do my best,” Cas smirked, trying to dust off his feet outside of the car.

“All right, let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Dean said, climbing behind the wheel. “We’re heading north, I guess.”

Cas nodded, and Dean popped in a Bob Seger tape, one he hadn’t listened to since the averted apocalypse.

...

Several hours into the trip, Cas placed his hand on Dean’s thigh—and not in a modest way, down on the knee, but up high up near the groin.

“Cas, the last time someone put their hand on me like that, I got laid,” Dean laughed, remembering the last time he had said something similar to Cas. He didn’t know how he felt about the angel then.

“That is my intention, Dean,” Cas admitted, his eyes trained on Dean.

“We’re _driving_ ,” Dean smirked, blushing a little.

“Can we pull over?”

“Eager, are we?” Dean laughed, but he considered it seriously. The highway they’d been driving up was pretty deserted. “Okay,” Dean swallowed, thinking of what was possibly to come.

He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly feeling like a lovesick teenager who was about to have sex for the first time. They pulled over onto the grassy shoulder and he parked the car, leaving it running so the tape was still playing.

“Kiss me, Cas,” Dean asked.

It was something he’d wanted for a long time, something he thought about often, but never had the courage to ask, knowing, or at least thinking, that he would be rebuffed. Now, he knew it was something he _could_ ask for.

And so, Cas leaned in and pressed their lips together. He was... _kissing_ Cas. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, admittedly Dean’s best friend. He was kissing him. It was tentative at first, shy, and only a little exploratory. But the longer it lasted, the more Dean ached for it. He pulled Cas closer, leaning back, and causing them to kiss more desperately, faster, and with tongue. 

Cas took the hint and began to push Dean farther and farther back until they were horizontal on the front seat. Dean put his hands against the door to prevent his head from banging into it as Cas sat up a little and started to roll his hips down into Dean.

“Do you know what you’re doing or did your vessel just take over?”

That stopped Cas right in his tracks. “My ‘people skills’ might be ‘rusty,’ but even this is pretty second nature,” he assured.

That wasn’t exactly an answer, but Dean decided to accept it anyway.

“You’re driving me crazy, Cas,” Dean said, hands coming up to card through his own hair.

Dean was so hard he was aching for it, rolling his hips up to meet Cas’ and pressing a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t be quiet. There’s no one here to hear you,” Cas murmured and that got Dean going even more.

A streak of lust rolled through him. “Fuck!” he shouted, rolling up into Cas. 

“Cas, I…” Dean said, trailing off, a little unsure despite all the blood in his body concentrating in his dick, “I want you inside of me. Is that something you want?”

“Very much so,” Cas admitted, nodding.

“In the back seat, grab my duffle. There's lube and condoms in the side pocket.”

Cas grabbed the duffle and found the aforementioned items, placing them on the dash. They were still fully clothed, so he leaned back and started to take his trench coat off. Dean used his feet to shuck his shoes, then started to undo his pants.

“Don’t,” Cas said, placing a hand over Dean’s. “I want to do that.”

A shot of lust to the gut. “Holy fuck,” Dean breathed. “Okay.”

He waited as Cas took off his own shoes and then loosened his tie. Dean couldn’t help it. He leaned forward and grabbed Cas by the tie so he could pull him down into a quick and dirty kiss. Then, he loosened it a bit more and took it off, tossing it into the back seat. Next, he reached for Cas’ button-up shirt and tried to get those undone. It was a little harder than expected but Cas was patient enough to wait and let him do it. When all the buttons were undone, though, Cas ripped the shirt off himself and then made quick work of Dean’s pants, easily popping the button and pulling down the zip.

“Lift your hips,” he commanded, and Dean did as he was told, letting Cas pull the jeans down over Dean’s hips.

Then, Dean was left in his shirt and boxer briefs, his hard on clearly visible through the heather gray fabric. Cas looked down at it for a second, confronted with reality, then placed a palm over it, stroking the outline.

“Oh fuck,” Dean breathed, “keep that up and I’m just gonna come in my pants before you even try to get your dick out.”

Cas laughed but pulled away. With a little effort, he was able to turn and shimmy out of his pants and underwear, freeing his cock. Dean stared in awe. He really couldn’t believe he was finally getting to see Cas like this, completely naked.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Dean admitted, reaching a hand out to place on Cas’ chest and trail down to his stomach, feeling where Cas’ breath hitched.

“I can say the same for you,” Cas admitted, leaning forward to kiss Dean, tugging on his underwear as he did so.

“I need you inside me. Now,” Dean said between kisses, lips centimeters from Cas’.

Cas nodded and pulled back, reaching for a condom. He easily (and where did that come from?) opened the foil packet and slid it down over his erection. Then, he gave a few strokes to test it out before reaching over for the lube. He slathered his cock with a healthy amount of the clear liquid and moved between Dean’s legs, lining himself up.

“How do we…do this…” Cas trailed off, suddenly seeming very insecure.

“Oh, uh, just kinda push in. I’ll probably need you to pull out pretty quickly but after that, we should be good. Okay?”

Cas nodded, doing what he was told.

On the first push in, it burned like hell and Dean hissed through his teeth. It startled Cas and he pulled out immediately. Dean laughed.

“It’s okay, man. You can put it back in now.”

“Are you sure? You seemed...hurt,” Cas was making a worried face with his eyebrows and Dean reached up to smooth it away.

“I promise. You’re fine. I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“Okay,” Cas nodded and then pressed in again.

This time, it felt wonderful. Dean sighed in satisfaction, just reveling in the fact that it was _Cas_ that was inside of him right then, even if he wasn’t moving.

“Is this good?” Cas tried to confirm.

“Mhm,” Dean admitted, “you can move. I promise I’m good.”

Cas took his word and began pumping his hips. It felt so fucking good, to the point he was almost ready to come, but then Cas took his cock in hand and began to pump that too. It was almost too much for him.

“Oh my _godddd_ ,” Dean groaned, come spilling out onto Cas’ hand.

As Dean shook with aftershocks, cock over-sensitive, Cas continued to pump his hips into him. It didn’t take too much longer, kissing Dean hard, for him to come too inside the condom.

“Holy fuck, that was awesome,” Dean admitted, still panting.

“Yeah,” Cas breathed, pulling out of Dean and tying off the condom before tossing that into the back too and finding a napkin to wipe his hand off.

He flopped down on top of Dean and Dean was so, so tempted to just stay there like that, bask in the afterglow a little, but parked cars on the side of the highway are always a bit of a red flag.

“Cas, we gotta get going,” he said, eventually.

Cas nodded and sat up. “You’re right.”

He reached for his underwear and pants, opening the passenger side door to pull those on more easily. Dean found his underwear and pants too, without sitting up.

As Cas was starting to button up his shirt, he spoke. “Hey, Dean, about your brother…”

“What about him?” Dean asked, eyes narrowing. Were they really about to start a fight right after they fucked for the first time? 

“He’s alive.”

“He _what?_ ” he said, sitting up.

“I have his number.”

Dean took a moment to take that in, finding his shoes on the passenger side and awkwardly contorting next to Cas to pull them back on.

“Can we call him?” he asked in a small voice because however upset he might be with Cas right then, he wanted to speak to his brother.

Cas nodded solemnly and found his flip phone in the pocket of his trousers. He clicked on it a few times and then it was ringing. Sam answered and Dean’s stomach dropped at the sound of his voice.

“I can’t talk right now. I’m going to send you some coordinates. Meet me there.”

The line went dead and Dean felt...numb? A few seconds later, the phone buzzed with a text from Sam. They took the coordinates and punched them into Dean’s phone.

“It’s a location in Lebanon, Kansas,” Cas said.

“To Lebanon it is.” Dean nodded and shifted the car into drive.


End file.
